


PR 3392 
.W4 
1809 
Copy 1 



HE 



WEST INDIAN; 

A COMEDY, 



IN FIVE ACTS J 

By RICHARD CUMBERLAND, Esq, 

AS PERFORMED AT THE 

THEATRE ROYAL DRURY LANE, 
AND BOSTON THEATRE. 

WITH REMARKS 

BY MRS. INCHBALD. 



BOSTON: 



PUBLISHED BY JOHN WEST and CO, 
NO. 75, CORNHILL. 



£. O, HOUSE, PRINTER, 

1809. 



IN EXCHANUM 

&3 ( 0Q » 









REMARKS- 



A good play, like a female beauty, may go out of fash- 
ion before it becomes old. Men may admire, till admi- 
^ ration is exhausted, and forsake both the one and the oth- 
er, for that novelty, which has less intrinsic worth. 

This is exactly the case with u The West Indian." Its 
attraction has been so powerful, that the custom of seeing 
it has weakened its force. Still its value is acknowledged. 
Every one commends it as a most excellent comedy ; but 
i it is no longer for the advantage of the theatre to perform 
it often. 

Mr. Cumberland, in his Memoirs, lately published, say* 
—He wrote this play in Ireland; at the house of his fath- 
er, the Bishop of Kilmore, to whom he jvas on a visit ; 
and, that h© chose a room for this task, which had a pros- 
pect no more inviting than a haystack or a barn, that his 
attention might not be seduced from his literary employ- 
ment. It was a fortunate room ; and if equal success were 
attached to the spot, it would be worth the pains of a 
voyage to Ireland, over a stormy sea, with a view to such 
another composition. 

" The West Indian" was produced in the year 1771 ; 
and it must be consoling for the outhors of the present 
day, to read these lines in the prologue, addressed to the 
audience — 

" You say we write not like our fathers — true : 

Nor were our fathers half so strict as you." 
By this passage it may be concluded, that certain critics 



4 REMARKS. 

had the same heavy charges against the dramatists of that 
period, as of the present time : and yet, as a proof of the 
general injustice of their accusation, the following are a- 
mongst the very excellent dramas, which just then had 
made their appearance. 

The elder Coleman's" Jealous Wife'' and" Clandestine 
Marriage." — Murphy's "Way to keep Him" and " All in 
the Wrong." — Home's " Douglas," and Bickerstaff's 
" Love in a Village." 

A quotation from the prologue leads to one from the 
epilogue ; in which it will be seen, that bad habits have 
also descended from mother to daughter, as they have 
done from father to son 

" Now let the modern modish fair appear ; 
Till noon they sleep, from noon till night they dress ; 
From night till morn, they game it more or less. 
Next day, the same sweet course of joy run o'er, 
Then the night after, as the night before, 
And the night after that, encore, encore !" 
Remarks, which precede a work, must be written with 
infinite restraint, lest i.n observation carried too far upon 
any one part of the fable or characters, should reveal se- 
crets which it is the reader's chief amusement, in the pe- 
rusal of the play . himself to find out. It cannot be, how- 
ever, any dinvnution of the pleasure of reading this com- 
edy to be told — that, although it may bestow no small 
degree of entertainment in the closet, its proper region 
is the stage. — Many of the characters require the actor's 
art, to fill up the bold design, where the author's pen has 
not failed, but wisely left the perilous touches of a finish- 
ing hand, to the judicious comedian. 

Of the persons, who acted originally in this play, it is 



REMARKS. 5 

melancholy to reflect how few are now living : yet its an 
thor not only survives but flourishes ! — King was the ori- 
ginal Belcour ; and strange to say, that, although the play 
had brilliant success, the hero was not properly represent- 
ed. King was, at that time, above fifty years of age, and 
looked to be so — he had other impediments to prevent 
his exactly personating the young, high spirited, open- 
hearted, inconsiderate, West Indian ; though, in almost 
all the other characters which he performed, he was per- 
fectly a good actor. 

Moody's O'Flaherty was in high repute — Johnstoue's 
can scarcely be thought superior by the audiences of the 
present century. Yet Johnstone's Irishmen, Patrician or 
Plebeian, are so excellent, they are in danger of bringing 
the whole group into disrepute ; for they tempt authors 
to write bad parts, in imitation of good ones, and to com- 
prise every degree of Irish character, in the mere tone of 
the voice. 

Mr. Cumberland has not always the talent to make his 
female characters prominent. Elegance in Charlotte Rus- 
port, and beauty in Louisa Dudley, are the only qualities 
which the two actresses, who represent those parts, re- 
quire ; and these gifts were perfectly in the possession oi 
the original performers — Mrs. Abington and Mrs. Lad 
dely. 

In the Spectator is a letter with this question — " Mj 
Spectator, be so kind as to let me know, what vou esteem 
to be the chief qualification pf a good poet, especially of 
one who writes pla} s ?" 

Answer- - to be a well bred man." 

On tl " . Cumberland i« a man of perfecj 

A 2 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Stockwell 

Bei.cour 

Major O'Flaherty 

Captain Dudley 

Charles Dudley 

Varland 

Stukely 

FuLMER 



DRURY LANE. 
Mr. Dotvton 
Mr Elliston. 
Mr. 'Johnstone. 
Mr, Dormer. 
Mr. De Camp. 
Mr. Cherry 
Mr. Maddoch. 
Mr. Purser. 



BOSTON. 
Mr. CaulJUld. 

Mr Mills. 
Mr. Bernard. 
Mr. Johnston. 
Mr Taylor. 
Mr. Dykes. 
Mr. Morgan. 
Mr. Dickenson. 



Lady Rusport Mrs. Sparks. Mrs. Cunningham. 

Charlotte Rusport Miss Duncan. Mrs. Woodham* 

Louisa Dudley Miss Mellon. Mrs. Turner. 

Mrs. FuLMER Miss Tidsivcll. Mrs. Graupner. " 

LUCY Mrs. Scott. Mrs. Barnes. 



SCENE,— London, 



THii 



WEST INDIAN 



ACT THE FIRST, 



SCENE I, 



A Merchant's Cempting House. 



In an inner Room, set off by Glass Doors, are discover- 
ed several Clerks, employed at their Desks. A 
Writing Table in the Front Room. Stockwell is 
discovered, reading a Letter ; — Stukely comes 
gently out of the Back Room, and observes him some 
time before he speaks. 

Stuke. He seems disordered : something in that let- 
ter ; and, I'm afraid, of an unpleasant sort— He has 
many ventures of great account at sea : a ship richly- 
freighted for Barcel ona ; another for Lisbon ; and 
others expected from Cadiz, of still greater value. 
Besides these, I know he has many deep concerns in 
foreign bottoms, and underwriting to a vast amount^ 
I'll accost him— Sir— Mr. Stockwell ! 

Stock, Stukely !— Well, have you shipped the 
cloths ? 

Stuke. I have, sir ; here's the 'Hill of lading, and 



3 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

copy of the invoice; the assortments are all com- 
pared: Mr. Traffic will give you the policy upon 
'Change. 

Stock. Tis very well — lay these papers by : and no 
more business for a while. Shut the door, Stukely ; 
I have had long proof of your friendship and fidelity 
to me : a matter of mo^t intii.ite concern lies on my 
mind, and 'twill be a sensible relief to unbosom my- 
self to you ; I have just now been informed of the ar- 
rival of the young West Indian, I have so long been 
expecting — you know who I mean ? 

Stuke. Ye3, sir; Mr.Belcour, the young gentle- 
man, who inherited old Belcour's great estate in Ja- 
maica 

Stock. Hush ! not so loud ; come a little nearer 
this way. This Belcour, is now in London ; part 
of his baggage is already arrived, and I expect him 
every minute. Is it to be wondered at, if his coming 
throws me into some agitation, when I tell you, Stuke- 
ly, he is my son ? 

Stuke. Your son ! 

Stock. Yes, sir, my only son. Early in life, I ac- 
companied his grandfather to Jamaica as his clerk ; 
he had an only daughter, somewhat older than my- 
self ; the mother of thi.-: gentleman : it was my chance 
(call it good or ill) to engage her affections ; and, as 
the inferiority of my condition made it hopeless to ex- 
pect her farther 's consent, her fondness provided an ex- 
pedient, and we were privately married ; the i: sue of 
that concealed engagement is, as I have told you, this 
Belcour. 

Stuke. That event surely discovered your con- 
nexion. 

Stock. You shall hear. Not many days after our 
marriage, old Belcour set out for England ; and, dur- 
ing hh abode here, my wife wa^', with great secrecy, 
ddivereddfthmon, J expedients t6 disguise 



Act L\ THE WEST INDIAN. 9 

her situation without parting from her infant, she con- 
trived to have it laid and received at her door as a 
foundling. After _-ome time her father ret urned, hav- 
ing left me here ; in one of those fa\ otfj able moments 
that decide the fortune of prospcou men, this child 
was introduced ; from that instant he treated him 
as his own, gave him his name, and brought him up 
in his family. 

Stuke. And did you never reveal this secret, either 
to old Belcour, or your son ? 

Stock. Never 

Stuke. Therein you surprise me : a merchant of 
your eminence, and a member of the British Parlia- 
ment, might sureiy aspire, without offence, to the 
daughter of a planter. In this case too, natural affec- 
tion would prompt to a discovery. 

Stock. Your remark is obvious ; nor could I have 
persisted in this painful silence, but in obedi ence to 
the dying injunctions of a beloved wife. This letter 
you found me reading, conveyed tho^e injunctions to 
me ; it was dictated in her last illness, and a.most in 
the article of death ; (you '11 bpare me the recital of 
it) she there conjures me, in terms as solemn as they 
are affecting, never to reveal the secret of our mar- 
riage, or withdraw my 3 on, while her father sur- 
vived. 

Stuke. But on what motives did your unhappy lady 
found the^e injunctions ? 

Stock. Principally, I believe, from apprehension on 
my account, lest old Belcour, on whom at her decease 
I wholly depended, should withdraw hi 3 protection. 
My judgment ha not suffered by the event : old Bel- 
cour is dead, and has bequeathed his whole estate to 
him we are -peaking of. 

Stuke. Now then you are no longer bound to se- 
crecy. 

Stock. True : but before I publicly reveal my elf, 
I could wish to make some experiment of my son's 



10 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

disposition : this can only be done by letting his spirit 
take its course without restraint ; by these means, I 
think I shall di cover much more of his real charac- 
ter under the title of his merchant, than I should un- 
der that of his father. 

Enter a Sailor, ushering in several Black Ser- 
vants, carrying Portmanteaus, Trunks, &c. 

Sail. 'Save your honour ! is your name Stockwell, 
pray ? 

Stock. It is. 

Sail. Part of my master Belcour's baggage, an't 
please you : there's another cargo not far a-stern of 
us ; and the coxswain has got charge of the dumb 
creatures. 

Stock. Pr'ythee, friend, what dumb creatures do> 
you .peak of ; has Mr. Belcour brought over a col- 
lection of wild beasts ? 

Sail. No, lord love him ; no, not he ; let me see ; 
there's two green monkeys, a pair of grey parrots, a 
Jamaica jow and pigs, and a mangrove dog ; that's 
all. 

Stock. Is that all ? 

Sail. Yes, your honour : Yes, that's all ; bless his 
heart, 'a might have brought over the whole island if 
he would : a didn't leave a dry eye in it. 

Stock. Indeed ! Stukely, show them where to be- 
stow their baggage. Follow that gentleman. 

Sail. Come, bear a hand, my lads, bear a hand. 

[Exit <zvitb Stukely and Servants. 

Stock. If the principal tallies with his purveyors, he 
must be a singular spectacle in this place : he has a 
friend, however, in this sea-faring fellow ; 'tis no bad 
prognostic of a man's heart, when his shipmates give 
him a good word. [Exit. 



Act /.] THE WEST INDIAN. 11 



SCENE if. 

A Drawing Room. 

A FOQTMAN discovered setting the Chairs by, &c. 
Enter Housekeeper. 

Wousek. Why, what a fuss does our good master 
put himself in about thi^ West Indian ! see what a 
bill of fare I've been forced to draw out ; seven and 
nine, I'll assure you, and only a famiry dinner, as he 
calls it : why, if my Lord Mayor was expected, there 
could'nt be a greater to-do about him. 

Foot. I wish to my heart you had but seen the loads 
of trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus, he has sent hith- 
er. An ambassador's baggage, with all the smug- 
gled goods of his family, does not exceed it. 

Housek. A fine pickle he'll put the house into : had 
he been master's own son, and a christian Englishman, 
there could not be more rout than there is about this 
Creolian, as they call them. 

Foot. No matter for that ; he's very rich, and that's 
sufficient. They say, he has rum and sugar enough 
belonging to him, to make all the water in the 
Thames into puuch. But I see my master's coming. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Stockwell, followed by a Servant. 

* Stock. Where is Mr. Belcour ? Who brought this 
note from him ? 



12 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Ser<v. A waiter from the London Tavern, sir ; he- 
says, the young gentleman is just dressed, and will be 
with you directly. 

Stock. Show him in when he arrives. 

Serv. 1 shall, sir. I'll have a peep at him first, 
however ; I've a great mind to see this outlandish 
spark. The sailor fellow says, he'll make rare doings 
amongjt us. [Aside. 

Stock. You need not wait ; leave me [Exit Ser- 
vant.] Let me see. [Reads. 

Sir, 

I nvrite to you under the hands of the hair dresser ; 
as soon as I have made myself decent, and slipped on 
some fresh clothes, I will have the honour of paying you 
my devoirs. 

Tours, 

Belcour. 

He writes at his ease ; foe he's unconcious to whom 
his letter is addressed ; but what a palpitation does 
it throw my heart into ; a father's heart ! 'Tis an af- 
fecting interview ; when my eyes meet a son, whom 
yet they never saw, where shall I find constancy to 
support it ? Should he resemble his mother, I am o- 
verthrown. All the letters I have had from him, (for 
I industriously drew him into a correspondence with 
me) be-;peake him of quick and ready understanding. 
All the reports T ever received, give me favourable 
impressions of his character, wild, perhaps, as the 
manner of his country is, but, T trust, not frantic or 
unprincipled. 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. Sir, the foreign gentleman is come. 



Act I.] THE WEST INDIAN. 13 

Enter another Servant. 
Ser. Mr.Belcour. 

Enter Belcour. 

Stock. Mr. IJelcour, I am rejoiced to see you ; you 
are welcome to England ! 

$el. I thank you heartly, good Mr. Stockwell ; 
you and I have long conversed at a distance ; now 
we are met; and the pleasure, this meeting give: me, 
amply compensates for the perils I have run through 
in accomplishing it. 

Stock. What peril?, Mr. Belcour ? I could not have 
thought you would have made a bad passage at this 
time o'year. 

Bel. Nor did we : courier like, we came posting to 
your shores, upon the pinions of the swiftest gales 
that ever blew ; 'tis upon English ground all my dif- 
ficulties have arisen ; 'tis the passage from the river 
side I complain of. 

Stock. Ay, indeed ! What obstructions can you 
have met between this and the river side ? 

Bel. Innumerable ! Your town is as full of defiles 
as the inland of Corsica ; and, I believe they are as 
obstinately defended ; so much hurry, bustle, and 
confusion, on your quays : so many sugar casks por- 
ter butts, and common council men, in your streets, 
that unless a man marched with artilery in his front, 
'tis more than the labour of Hercules can effect, to 
make any tolerable way through your town. 

Stock. I am sorry you have been so incommoded. 

Bel. Why, 'faith 'twas all my own fault ; accus- 
tomed to a land of slaves, and out of patience with the 
whole tribe of custom-hou ; :e extortioners, boat-men, 
tide-waiters and water-bailiff's, thatbe-et me on all 
sides, worse than a swarm ofmusquitoes, I proceed- 
ed a little to> roughly to bru;-h them away with my 



14 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

rattan ; the sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon, and 
beginning to rebel, the mob chose different sides, 
and a furious scuffle ensued ; in the course of which, 
my person and apparel suffered so much, that I was 
obliged to step into the first tavern to refit, before I 
could make my approaches in any decent trim. 

Stock. All without is as I wish ; dear nature, add 
the rest, and I am happy. (Aside.) Well, Mr. Belcour, 
'tis a rough sample you have had of my countrymen's 
spirit ; but, I trust, you'll not think the worse of them 
for it 

BeU Not at all, not at all ; I like them the bet- 
ter ; Was I only a visitor, I might, perhaps, wish them 
a little more tractable ; but, as a fellow subject, and 
a sharer in their freedom, I applaud their spirit, 
though I feel the effects of it in every bone of my 
skin 

Stock. That's well ; I like that well. How -gladlf 
I could fall upon his neck, and own myself hi=. father I 

[Aside.. 
Bel. Well, Mr. Stockwell, for the first time in m\ 
life, here am I in England ; at the fountain head of 
pleasure, in the land of beauty, of arts, and elegancies . 
My happy stars have given me a good estate, and the- 
conspiring winds have blown we hither to spend it. 
Stock. To use it, not to waste it, I should hope ; to 
treat it, Mr. Belcour, not as a vassal, over whom you 
have a wanton and^a despotic power ; but as a sub- 
ject, which you are'bound to govern, with a temper- 
ate and restrained authority. 

Bel. True, sir, most truly said ; mine's a commr-- 
sion, not a right ; I am the offspring of di tress, and 
every child of sorrow is my brother ; while I have 
hands to hold, therefore, 1 will hold them open to 
mankind ; but, sir, my passions are my masters , they 
take me where they will; and oftentimes they leave to 
reason and to virtue nothing bat mv wishes and my 
sighs, 



Act I.] THE WEST INDIAN. 15 

Stock. Come, come, the man, who can accuse, cor- 
rects himself. 

Bel. Ah ! that's an office I am weary of : I wish a 
friend would take it up ; I would to ' Heaven you 
had leisure for the employ ; but, did you drive a trade 
to the four corners of the world, you would not 
find the task so toilsome as to keep me free from 
faults. 

Stock. Well, I am not discouraged ; this candour 
tells me I should not have the fault of self conceit to 
combat, that, at least, is not amongst the number. 

Bel. No ; If I knew that man on earth who thought 
more humbly of me than I do of myself, I would take 
up his opinion, and forego my own. 

Stock. And was I to chuse a pupil, it should be one 
of your complexion ; so if you'll come along with 
me we'll agree upon admission, and enter on a course 
of lectures directly. 

Bel. With ail my heart. (Exeunt. 



scene in. 

A Room in Lady Rusport's House. 
Enter Lady Rusport and Miss Rusport. 

Lady R. Miss Rusport, I desire to hear no more of 
Captain Dudley and his destitute family ; not a shil- 
ling of mine shall ever cross the hands of any of them ; 
because my sister chose to marry a beggar, am I 
bound to support him and his posterity ? 

Miss R. I think you are. 

Lady R. You think I am ! and pray where do yon 
find the law that tells you so. 

Miss R. I am not proficient enough to quote chap- 



16 THE WEST INDIAN. Cumberland. 

ter and verse ; but I take chanty to be a mean clause 
in the great statute of Christianity. 

Lady R. I say charity, indeed ! I am apt to think 
the distresses of Old Dudley, and of his daughter in- 
to the bargain, would never break your heart, if there 
was not a certain young fellow of two and twenty in 
the case ; who by the happy recommendation of a 
good person, and the brilliant appointments of anen- 
signcy, will, if I am not mistaken, cozen you out of a 
fortune of twice twenty thousand pound, as soon as 
ever you are of age to bestow it upon him. 

Miss R. A nephew of your ladyship's can never 
want any other recommendation with me : and, if 
my partiality for Charles Dudley is acquitted by the 
rest of the world, I hope Lady Rusport will not con- 
demn me for it. 

Lady R. I condemn you ! I thank Heaven, Miss 
Rusport, I am no ways responsible for your con- 
duct ; nor is it any concern of mine how you dis- 
pose of your elf : you are not my daughter, and, when 
I married your father, poor Sir Stephen Rusport, I 
found you a forward spoiled miss of fourteen, far a- 
bove being instructed by me. 

Miss R. Perhaps your ladyship calls this instruc- 
tion. 

Lady R. You are strangely pert ; but 'tis no won- 
der : your mother, I'm toid, wa£ a fine lady : and 
according to the modern style of education you was 
brought up. It was not so in my young day: ; there 
was then some decorum in the world, some subordi- 
nation, as the great Locke expresses it. Oh! 'twas 
an edifying sight, to see the regular deportment ob- 
served in our family ; no giggling, no gossiping was 
going on there ; my good father, Sir Oliver Round- 
head, never was seen to laugh himself, nor ever allow- 
ed it in his children. 

Miss jR. Ay ; those were happy times, indeed. 

Lady Ri But, in this forward age, we have coquettes 



Jet L] THE WEST INDIAN. 17 

in the egg-shell, and philosophers in the cradle ; 
girl, of fifteen, that lead the fashion in new cap; and 
new opinions, that have their sentiments and their 
sen-ations ; and the idle fops encourage them in it : 
O'my conscience, I wonder what it is the men can see 
in such babies. 

Miss R. True, madam ; hut all men do not over- 
look the maturer beauties of your ladyship's age ; 
witness your admired Major Dennis O'Fiaherty ; 
there's an example of some discernment j I declare 
to you, when your ladyship is by, the Major takes no 
more notice of me than if I was part of the furniture 
of your chamber. 

Lady R. The Major, child, has travelled through 
various kingdoms and climates,and has more enlarged 
notions of female merit than falls to the lot of an Eng- 
lish home-bred lover ; in mou other countries, no 
woman on your side forty would ever be named in" a 
polite circle. 

Miss R. Right, madam ; I've been told that in Vi- 
enna they have coquettes upon crutches, and Venus- 
es in their grand climacteric ; a lover there celebrates 
the wrinkles, not the dimples in his mistress's face,. 
The Major, i think, has served in the imperial army. 
Lady R. Are you piqued, my young madam : Mad 
my sister, Louisa, yielded to the addresses of one of 
Major O'Fiaherty's person and appearance, she . 
would have had some excuse. But to run away, as 
she did, at the age of sixteen too, with a man of old 

Dudley's sort 

MiisR. Was, in my opinion, the most venial tres- 
pass that ever girl of sixteen committed ; of a noble 
family^ an engaging person, strict honour, and sound 
understanding, what accomplishment was there want- 
ing in Captain Dudley, but that which the prodigal- 
ity of his ancestors had deprived him of ? 
Lady Ji. They left him as' much as he deserves j 

B2 



18 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

hasn't the old man captain's half pay? And is not 
the son an ensign ? 

Miss R. An ensign ! Alas, poor Charles ! Would 
to Heaven he knew what my heart feels and suffers for 
his sake. 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. Ensign Dudley, to wait upon your ladyship. 

Lady R. Who ! Dudley ! What can have brought 
him to town ? 

Miss R. Dear madam, 'tis Charles Dudley, 'tis 
your nephew. 

Lady R. Nephew ! I renounce him as my nephew ; 
Sir Oiiver renounced him as his grandson ; Didn't 
the poor dear good old man leave his fortune to me, 
except a small annuity to my maiden sister, who 
spoiled her constitution with nursing him ? And, de- 
pend upon it, not a penny of that fortune bhall ever 
be disponed of otherwise than according to the will 
jof the donor. 

Enter Charles Dudley, 

So young man, whence came you ? What brings you 
to town ? 

Charles. If there is any offence in my coming to 
town, your ladyship is in some degree responsible for 
it, for part of my errand was to pay my dufy here. 

Lady R. Coxcomb ! And where is your father, 
child ; and your sister ? Are they in town too ? 

Charles. They are. 

Lady R. Ridiculous ! I don't know what people 
do in London, who have no money to spend in it. 

Miss R. Dear madam, speak more kindly <:o your 
nephew ; how can ycu oppress a youth of his sensi- 
bility ? 

Lady R. Mis? Rusport. I insist upon rcurrc firing 



Act /.] THE WEST INDIAN. ie 

to your apartment ; when I want your advice, I'll 
send to you. [Exit Miss Ru sport.] So you have put 
on a red coat too, as well a. your father ; 'tis plain 
what value you et upon the good advice Sir Oli- 
ver used to give you ; how often has he cautioned 
you against the army ? 

Charles, Had it pi eased my grandfather to enable 
me to have obeyed his caution, I would have done it ; 
but you well know how destitute I am ; and "'tis not 
to be wondered at if I prefer the service of my king 
to that of any other master. 

Lady R. Well, well, take your own course ; 'tis no 
concern of mine : you never consulted me. 

Charles. I frequently wrote to your lady-hip, but 
could obtain.no ari.wer ; and, since my grandfather's 
death, this is the first opportunity I have had of wait- 
ing upon you. 

Lady R. I mu:-t de-ire you not to mention the 
death of that dear good man in my hearing ; my spir- 
its cannot support it. 

Charles- I shall obey you : permit me say, that, as 
that event has richly supplied you with the materials 
of bounty, the distresses of my family can furnish 
you with objects of it. 

Lady R. The distresses of your family, child, are 
quite out of the que tion at present; had Sir Oliver 
been pleased to consider them, I should have been 
well content ; but he had absolutely taken no notice 
of you in his will, and that to me must and shall be 
a law. Tell your father and your ti ter, I totally dis- 
approve of their coming up to town. 

Charles. Must I tell my father that, before your 
ladyship knows the motive that brought him hither ? 
Allured by the offer of exchanging for a commission 
on full pay, the veteran, after thirty year.; service, 
prepare:? to encounter the fatal heats of Senegambia ; 
hut wants a small supply to equip him for the expe- 
i, 



20 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. Major 0'Flaherty,to wait on your ladyship. 

Enter Major. 

O'Fla. Spare your ' speeches, young man ; don't 
you think her ladyship can take my word for that ? I 
hope, madam, 'tis evidence enough of my being pre- 
sent, when I have the honour of telling you so my- 
self. 

Lady R. Major O'Flaherty, I am rejoiced to see 
you. Nephew Dudley, you perceive I'm engaged* 

Charles- I shall not intrude upon your ladyship's 
more agreeable engagements. I presume I have my 
answer ? 

Lady R. Your answer, child ! What answer can 
you possibly expect ? or how can your romantic fa- 
ther suppose that I am to abet him in all bis idle and 
extravagant undertakings ? Come, major, let we show 
you the way into my dre -sing-room ; and let us leave 
this young adventurer to his meditations. [Exit. 

O'Fla. I follow you, my lady. Young gentleman, 
your obedient ! Upon my conscience, as fine a youngs 
fellow as I would wish to clap my eyes on : he might 
have answered my salute, however— '- well, let it pass ; 
Fortune, perhaps, frown.; upon the poor lad ; she's a 
dam'd slippery lady, and very apt to jilt us poor 
tellows, that wear cockades in our hats. Fare thee 
well, honey, whoever thou art. [Exit* 

Charles. So much for the virtues of a puri an — out 
upon it ; her heart is flint. 

Enter Miss Rusport. 

Miss R. Stop, stay a little, Charles ; whither are 
you going in such ha:te ? 

Charles-. Madam ; Miss Rusport ; what are your 
commands ? 



Act II.] THE WEST INDIAN. 21 

MissR. Why so reserved? We had used to answer 
to no other names than those of Charles and Char- 
lotte. 

Charles. What ails you ? You hare been weeping. 

Miss R. No, no ; or if I have, your eyes are full 
too ; but I have a thousand things to say to you ; 
before you go, tell me, I conjure you, where you are 
to be found ; here, give me your direction ; write it 
upon the back of this visiting ticket — Have you a 
pencil ? 

Charles. I have : but why should you desire to find 
us out ? 'ti:;a poor little inconvenient place ; my sis- 
ter has no apartment fit to receive you in. 

Enter Servant. 

Sery. Madam, my lady desires your company di- 
rectly'. 

Miss R. I am coming—well, have you wrote it J . 
Give it me. O, Charles ! either you do not, or you 
will not, understand me. [Exeunt severally. 



ACT THE SECOND. 

SCENE I. 

A Room in Fulmer's House. 
Fulmer and Mrs. Fulmer. 

Mrs. Fal Why, how you sit, mu~ing and moping, 
sighing and desponding ! I'm ashamed of you, Mr, 



22 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

'Fulmer : is this the country you described to me, 
a second Eldorado, rivers of gold and rocks of dia- 
monds ? You found me in a pretty snug retired way 
of life at Bologne, out of the noise and bustle of the 
world, and wholly at my ease. Fool that I was, to 
be inveigled into it by you ; but, thank Heaven our 
partnership is revocable ; I am not your wedded wife, 
praised be my stars! for what have we got,whom have 
we gulled but ourselves ? which of all your trains has 
taken fire ? Even this poor expedient of your book- 
seller's shop seems abandoned ; for if a chance cus- 
tomer drops in, who is there, pray, to help him to 
what he wants ? 

Ful. Patty you know it is not upon slight grounds 
that I despair ; there had used to be a livelihood to 
be picked up in this country, both for the honest and 
dishonest ? I have tried each walk, and am likely to 
Starve at last : there is not a point to which the wit 
and faculty of man can turn, that I have not set mine 
to ; but in vain, I am beat through every quarter of 
the compass. 

Mrs. Ful. Ah ! common efforts all : strike me a 
master-stroke, Mr. Fulmer, if you wish to make any 
figure in this country. 

Ful. But where, how, and what ? I have blustered 
ipr prerogative ; I have bellowed for freedom ; I have 
offered to serve my country ; I have engaged to be- 
tray it ; a master stroke, truly ! why, 1 have talked 
treason, writ treason, and, if a man can't live by that, 
he can live by nothing. Here I set up as a book- 
seller, why, men leave off reading ; and if I was to 
turn butcher, I believe, o'my conscience, they'd leave 
off eating. 

f aptain Dudley crosses the Stage. 

Mrs. Ful. Why, there now's your lodger, old 
Captain Dudley, as he calls himself ; there's no flint 



Act IL] THE WEST INDIAN. 23 

without fire ; something might be struck out of hia, 
if you had the wit to find the way. 

Yul. Hang him an old dry-skinned curmudgeon ; 
you may as well think to get truth out of a courtier, 
or candour out of a critic : I can make nothing of 
him ; besides, he's poor, and therefore not for our 
purpose. 

Mrs. YuL The more fool he ! Would any man be 
poor, that had such a prodigy in his possession ? 

Yul. His daughter, you mean ; she is, indeed, un- 
commonly beautiful. 

Mrs. Yul. Beautiful ! Why, she need only be seen, 
to have the first men in the kingdom at her feet. Egad, 
I wish I had the leasing of her beauty ; what would 
some of our young Nabobs give ? 

Yul. Hush ! here comes the Captain ; good girl, 
leave us to ourselves, and let me try what I can make 
of him. 

Mrs. Yul. Captain, truly ! Tfaith I'd have a regi- 
ment, had I such a daughter, before I was three 
months older. [Exit. 

Enter Captain Dudley. 

¥nl. Captain Dudley, good morning to you. 

Dud. Mr Fulmer, I have borrowed a book from 
your shop ! 'tis the sixth volume of my deceased 
friend Tristram : he is a flattering writer to us poor 
soldiers ; and the divine story of Le Fevre, which 
makes part of this book, in my opinion of it, does 
honour, not to its author only, but to human na- 
ture. 

Yul. He's an author I keep in the way of trade, but 
one I never relLhed : he is much too loose and pro- 
fligate for my ta te. 

Dud. That's being too severe : I hold him to be a 
moralist in the noblest sense ; he plays, indeed, with 
the fancy, and sometimes,perhaps,too wantonly ; but 
while he thus designedly masks his main attack. 



24 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

he comes at once upon the heart ; refines, amends it, 
softens it ; beat:- down each selfish barrier from about 
it, and opens every sluice of pity and benevolence. 

Ful Well, sir, I shall not oppose your opinion ; a 
favourite author is like a favourite mistress ; and 
there, you know, captain, no man likes to have his 
taste arraigned. 

Dud Upon my word, sir, I don't know what a 
man likes in that case ; 'tis an experiment I never 
made. 

Ful. Sir ! — are you serious ? 

Dud. J Tis of little consequence whether you think 
so. 

Ful. What a formal old prig it is ! [aside.] — I ap- 
prehend you, sir ; you speak with caution ; you are 
married ? 

Dud. I have been. 

Ful. And this young lady, which accompanies 
you — 

Dud. Passes for my daughter. 

Ful. Passes for his daughter ! humph — [aside]— 
She is exceeding beautiful, finely accomplished, of a 
moit enchanting shape and air. 

Dud. You are much too partial ; she has the. 
greatest defect a woman can have. 

Ful. How so, pray ? 

Dud. She has no fortune. 

Ful. Rather say, that you have none ; and that's 
a sore defect in one of your years, captain - Dudley : 
you have served no doubt ? 

Dud. Familiar coxcomb! But I'll humour him. 

[aside, 

Ful. A close old fox ! but I'll unkennel him 

[.aside. 

Dud. About thirty "years I've been in the service, 
Mr. Fulmer. 

Ful. I guessed as much; I laid it at no less : why, 
<is a wearsome time; 'tis an apprenticeship to a 



Kct II.] THE WEST INDIAN. 25 

profession, fit only for a patriarch. But preferment 
must he clo ely followed : y ou never could have been 
so far behind hand in the cha.-e, unless you had pal- 
pably mistaken your way. You'll pardon me ; but 
I begin to perceive you have lived in the word, not 
with it. 

Dud, It may be so ; and you, perhap , can give 
me better counsel I am now soliciting a favour ; an 
exchange to a company on full pay ; nothing more ; 
and yet I meet a thousand bar to that ; though, with- 
out boasting, I should think the certificate of ervi- 
ce;, which I sent in, might have purchased that in- 
dulgence to me. 

F«/. Who thinks or cares about them ? Certificate 
of services, indeed ! Send in a certificate of your 
fair daughter ; carry her in your hand with you. 

Dud What ! Who ! My daughter ! Carry my 
daughter ! Well, and what then ? 

Fid. Why, then your fortune's made, that's all. 

Dud. I understand you : and this you call know- 
ledge of the world ! Despicable knowledge ; but, sir- 
rah, I will have you know — [Threatening him, 

FuL Help ! who's within ? would you strike me, 
sir ? would you lift up your hand against a man in 
his own house ? 

Dud. In a church, if he dare insult the poverty of 
a man of honour. 

Fid Have a care what you do ; remember there is 
such a thing in law as an assault and battery ; ay, and 
such trifling forms as warrants and indictments. 

Dud. Go, sir ; you are too mean for my resent- 
ment : 'tis that, and not the law, protects ybu. 
Hence ! 

Yul. An old, absurd, incorrigible blockhead ! , I'll 
be' revenged of hiirL [aside. 

C 



26 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 



Enter Charles Dudley. 

Charles. What is^the matter, sir ? Sure I heard an 
outcry as I entered the house. 

Dud. Not unlikely : our landlord and his wife are 
for ever wrangling.— Did you find your aunt Dudley 
at home ? 

Charles. I did. 

Dud, And what was your reception ■? 

Charles. Cold as our poverty arid her pride could 
make it. 

Dud. You told her the pressing occasion I had for 
a small supply to equip me for this exchange j has 
she granted me the relief I asked ? 

Charles. Alas, sir ! she has peremptorily refu?ed it. 

Dud. That':- hard ; that's hard, indeed ! My peti- 
tion was for a small sum ; she has refused it, you 
say : well, be it so ; I must not complain. Did you 
see the broker, about the insurance on my life ? 

Charles. There again I am the messenger of ill 
news ; I can raise no money, so fatal is the climate : 
alas ! that ever my father should be sent to perish m 
such a place ! 

Enter Louisa Dudley. 

Dud. Louisa, what's the matter ? you seem frighted. 

Lou. I am, indeed : coming from Miss Rusport s, 
I met a young gentleman in the streets, who has beset 
me in the strangest manner. 

Charles. Insufferable ! Was he rude to you ? 

Lou. I cannot say he was absolutely rude to me, 
but he was very importunate to speak to me, and 
once or twice attempted to lift up my hat ; he follow- 
ed me to the corner of the street, and there I give 
him the slip. 

Dud. You must walk no more in the streets^ child, 
without me, or your brother. 



Act IL] THE WEST INDIAN. 2; 

Lou. O Charles ! Miss Rusport desires to see you 
directly ; Lady Rusport is gone out, and she has 
something particular to say to you. 

Charles. Have you any commands for me, sir ? 

Dud. None, my dear ; by all meano wait upon 
Mis-. Rusport, Come, Louisa ; I must de,ire you to 
go up to your chamber, and compose yourself. 

[Exeunt* 

Enter Belcour, after peeping in at the Door. 

Bel. Not a soul, a^- I'm alive. Why, what an odd 
sort of a house i this ! Confound the little jilt, 6he 
ha? fairly given me the slip. A plague upon this 
London I shall have no luck in i: : such a crowd, 
and suck a hurry, and vuch a number of shcpo, and 
one so like the other, that whether the wtnch turned 
into this house or the next, or whether she went up 
stair- or down stairs, (for there's a world at ove and a 
wond below it *eems) I declare, I know no more 
than if I was in the Blue Mountains, In the name of 
all the devils at once, why did she run away i If er» 
ery handsome girl I meet in tnis town is to ieau me 
such a wiMgooie cha-e, I had better have stayed in 
the torrid zone : I shall be wasted to the Jze of a 
sugar cane : what >rhall I do ? give the chase up ? 
hang it, that's cowardly : shall I, a true born son of 
Phoebus, suffer this little nimble-footed Daphne to 
escape me ?— " Forbid it,honour,and forbid it, love." 
Hu:rh i hush ! here she comes ! Oh ! the devil ! 
What tawdry thing have we got here ? 

Enter Mrs. FulmeH. 

Mrs Ful. Your humble servant, sir. 
Bel. Your humble servant, madam. 
Mrs Ful. A fine summer's day, sir. 
Bel. Ye-, ma'am ; and so cool, that, if the Calen- 
dar didn't call it July, I should swear it was January, 
Mn Ful. Sir ! 



28 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Bel. Madam ! 

Mrs Ful. Do you wish to speak to Mr Fulmer, 
sir ? 

Bel Mr Fulmer, madam ? I hav'nt the honour of 
knowing such a person. 

Mrs Ful. No,! 'Tis the Captain, I suppose, you are 
waiting for. 

Bel I rather suspect it is the Captain's wife. 

Mrs Ful. The Captain has no wife, sir. 

Bel No wife ! I'm heartly sorry for it ; for then 
she's his mistress j and that I take to be the more 
desperate ?a?e of the two. Pray, madam, wasn't 
there a lady ju t now turned into your house i 'Twas 
with her I wished to speak. 

Mrs Fu'.. What sort of a lady, pray ? 

Bel. One of the lovliest sort my eyes ever beheld 5 
young, tall, fresh, fair ; in short, a goddess. 

Mrs Ful Nay, but dear, dear sir, now I'm sure 
you flatter; for 'twas me you followed into, the shop 
door this mmute. 

Bel. You ! No, no, take my word for it, it was 
not you, madam. 

Mrs Ful. BuL what is it you laugh at ? 

Bel. Upon my soul, I ask your pardon ; but it was 
not you, believe me ; be assured it wasn't 

Mrs Ful. Well, sir, I shall not contend for the 
honour of being noticed by you ; I hope you think 
you wou'dn't have been the first man that noticed me 
in the streets ; however, this I'm positive of, that no 
living woman but myself has entered these doors this 
morning. 

Bel. Why, then, I'm mistaken in the house, that's 
all ; for it is not humanly posJble I can be so far out 
in the lady. [Going. 

Mr: Ful. Coxcomb ! But hold — a thought oc- 
cur.- as urea, can be, he ha-j seen Mi Dudley., 
A word with you, young gentleman ; comeback. 

Mel. Well, what's your pleasure ? 



Act //.] THE WEST INDIAN. 29 

Mrs Ful. You seem greatly captivated with this 
young lady ; are you apt to fall in love thus at first 
sight ? 

Bel. Oh, yes : 'tis the only way I can ever fall in 
love ; any man may tumble into a pit by surprise, 
none but a fool would walk into one by choice. 

Mrs Ful. You are a hasty lover, it seems ; have 
you spirit to be a generous one? They, that will please 
the eye, musn't spare the purse. 

Bel Try me ; put me to the proof ; bring me to an 
interview with the dear girl that has thus captivated 
me, and see whether I have spirit to be grateful. 

Mrs Ful. But how, pray, am I to know the girl 
you have set your heart on ? 

Bel. By an undescribable grace, that accompanies 
every look and action that falls from her ; there can 
be but one such woman in the world, and nobody can 
mistake that one. 

Mrs Ful. Well, if I should stumble upon this an- 
gel in my walks, where am I to find you ? What's 
your name ? 

Bel. Upon my soul I can't tell you my name. 

Mrs Ful. Not tell me ! Why so I 

Bel. Because I don't know what it is myself; as 
yet 1 have no name ! 

Mrs Ful. No name ! 

Bel. A one ; a friend, indeed, lent me his ; but he 
forbade me to use it on any unworthy occasion. 

Mrs Ful. But where is your place of abode ? 

Mel. I have none ; I never slept a night in England 
in my life. 

Mrs Ful. Hey day ? 

Enter Fulmer. 

Ful. A fine case, truly, in a free country ; a pretty 
pass things are come to, if a man is to be assaulted in 
his own house, 

C2 



30 THE WIST INDIAN. [Cumberland, 

Mrs Ful. Who has assaulted you, my dear . ? 
Ful. Who ! why this Captain Drawcansir, thi old 
Dudley, my lodger; but I'll unlodgehim ; I'llunhar- 
bour him, I warrant. 

Mrs. F Hush! hush! hold your tongue man; 
pocket the affront, and be quiet ; I've a scheme on 
foot will pay you a hundred beatings. Why you sur- 
prise me, Mr. Fulrner ; Captain Dudley assault you ! 
Impossible. 

Ful. Nay, I can't call it an absolute assault ; but 
he threatened me. 

Mrs. Fid. Oh, wa; that all? I thought how it would 
turn out— A likely thing, truly, for a person of his 
obliging compassionate turn : no, no, poor Captain 
Dudley, he has sorrows and distresses enough of his 
own to employ his spirits, without setting them a- 
gainst other people. Make it up as fast as you can ; 
watch this gentleman out ; follow him wherever he 
goes, and bring me word who and what he is ; be 
sure you dont lose sight of him ; I've other business 
in hand. [Exit. 

Bel. Pray, sir, what sorrows and distresses have be- 
fallen this old gentleman you -peak of ? 

Ful. Poverty, disappointment, and all the distre ses 
attendant thereupon : sorrow enough of all con- 
science ; I soon found how it was with him, by his 
way of living, low enough of all reason ; but what I 
overheard this morning put it out of all doubt. 
Bel. What did you overhear this morning , ? 
FuL Why, it seems he wants to join his regiment, 
and has been beating the town over to raise a little 
money for that purpose upon his pay ; but the climate, 
I find, where he is going, is so unhealthy, that nobody 
can be found to lend him any. 

Bel. Why, then your town is a damned good-for- 
nothing town : and I wish I had never come into it. 
Ful, That's what I say, sir ; the hard heartedness 
of some folks is unaccountable. There's an old Lady 



Act II.] THE WEST INDIAN. Si 

Rusport, a near relation of this gentleman's ; she live:- 
hard by here, opposite to Stockwell'l* the great mer- 
chant ; he sent to her a-begging, but to no purpose ; 
though she is as rich as a Jew, she would not furnish 
him with a farthing. 

Bel. Is the Captain at home ? 

Ful. He is up stairs, sir. 

Bel. Will you take the trouble to desire him to step 
hither ! T want to speak to him. 

Ful. Pll send him to you directly. I oon't know 
what to make of this young man ; but, if] live, I will 
find him out, or know the reason why. [Eiiit. 

Bel. I've lost the girl it seems, that's clear : she 
was the first object of my pursuit ; but the case of 
this poor officer touches me ; and, after all, there may 
be as much true delight in rescuing a fellow creature 
from distre s, as there would be in plunging one into 
it But let me see : it's a point that must be man- 
aged with -orne delicacy — Apropo ; ! there's pen and 
ink— I've struck upon a method that will do [fPrites.] 
Ay, ay, thb is the very thing : 'twas devilish lucky I 
happened to have these bill; about me. There, there. 
fare you well ! I'm glad to be rid of you ; you stood 
a chance of being worse applied, I can tell you. 

[Encloses and Seals ike Paper. 

Fulmer brings in Dudley. 

Ful. That's the gentleman, sir. I shall make \ 
however, to lend an ear. 

Dud- Have you any commands for me, sir ? 

Bel. Your name is Dudley, -sir ? 

Dud. It is. 

Bel. You command a company, I think* Ca, 
Dudley ? 

Dud, I did : I am now upon half-pay. 

Bel. You have served some time I 

Dud. A pretty many years; long enough to see 



S2 THE WEST INDIAN. . [Cumber/and. 

some people of more merit, and better interest than 
myself, made general officers. 

Bel. Their merit I may have some doubt of ; their 
interest I can readily give credit to j there is little 
promotion to be looked for, in vour profession, I be- 
lieve, without friends, Captain ? 

Dud. I believe io too': have you fmy other business 
with me, may I ask ? 

Bel Your patience for a moment. I was informed 
you was about to join your regiment in distant quar- 
ters abroad. 

Dud. I have been soliciting an exchange to a com- 
pany on full pay, quartered at Jarnes/s Fort, in Sene- 
gambia ; but, I'm afraid, I must drop the undertak- 
ing, 

Bel. Why so, pray ? 

Dud. Why so, sir ? 'Tisa honic question, for a 
perfect stranger to put ; there is something very par- 
ticular in all this. 

Bel. If it is not impertinent, sir, allow me to a?k 
you what reason you have for despairing of success. 
Dud. Why, really, sir, mine is an obvious reason, 
for a soldier to have— — Want of money ; simply that. 
heL May I beg to know the sum you have occa- 
sion for ? 

Dud. Truly, sir, I cannot exactly tell you on a sud- 
den ; nor is it, I suppose of any great consequence 
to you to be informed: but I should guess, in the 
gi 05S, that two hundred pounds would serve. 

Bel. And c'o \ou find a difficulty in raising that 
sum upon your pay ? 'Ti done every day. 

Dud. The nature of the climate makes it difficult : 
I can get no one to insure my life. 

Bel. Oh ! that's a circum-tVnce may make for you, 
as well a-, against: in short, Captain Dudley, it »o 
happens, that I can command the sum of two hundred 
pounds: seek no farther j I'll accommodate you with 
it upon ea:;y terms. 



Act IL] THE WEST INDIAN, 

Dud. Sir ! do I understand you rightly ? — 1 beg 
your pardon ; but am I to believe that you are in 
earnest I 

Bel. What is your surprise ? Is it an uncommon 
thing for a gentleman to speak truth ? Or is it incre- 
dible that one fellow creature should a^ist an- 
other ? 

Dud. I ask your pardon — May I beg to know to 
whom ? — Do you propose this inthe way of business ? 

Bel. Entirely : I have no other business on earth. 

Dud Indeed ! you are not a broker, I'm persuaded. 

BeL I am not. 

Dud. Nor an army agent, I think I 

Bel. I hope you will not think the worse of me for 
being neither ; in ^hort, sir, if you will peruse this pa* 
per, it will explain to you who I am, and upon what 
terms I act ; while you read it, I will step home, and 
fetch the money : and we will conclude the bargain 
without loss of time. In the mean while, good day 
to you [Exit hastily. 

Dud. Humph ! there's something very odd in all 
thi? — let me aee what we've got here— This paper is 
to tell me who he fe, and what are his terms : in the 
name of wonder, why has he sealed it , ? Hey day ! 
what's here ? Two Bank note-, of a hundred each ! I 
can't comprehend what this mean .;. Hold ; here's a 
writing ; perhap that will show me. " Accept 'Jus 
trifle ; pursue your fortune, and prosper." Am I in 
a dream I Ij this a reality ? 

Enter Major O'Flaherty. 

O'Fla. 'Save you, my dear ! Is it you now that are 

Captain Dudley, I would a-k ? Whuh ! What's 

the hurry the man's h ? If 'tis the lad that run out' 
of the .hop you would ovel^^e^you-ATi^t^^^l 
stay where you are ; by my soul he's as nimble as a 
Groat, you are a full hour's march in his rear — Ay 



S4 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

faith, you may a> well turn back, and; gtve over the 
pursuit ; well, captain Dudley, if tbaVs your name, 
there's a letter for you. Read, man ; read it ; and I'll 
have a word with you after you have done. 

Dud. More miracles on foot! So»so> from Lady 
Hu^port 

O'F/a. You're right ! it's from her ladyship. 

Dud. Well, sir, I have ca tmy eyeoverit ;. 'tis short 
and peremptory ; are you acquainted with the con* 
tents? 

O'FIa. Not at all, my dear ; not at all. 

Dud. Have you any message from Lady Rusport ? 

O'F/rt. Not a syllable, honey : only, when you've 
digested the letter, I've a little bit of a message to de- 
liver you from myself. j 

Dud. And may I beg to know who yourself is ? 

CPYla. Denis O'Flaherty, at your service ; a poor 
Major of Grenadiers ; nothing better. 

Dud. So much for your name and title, sir ; now 
be so good a<> to favour me with your message 

O'F/a. Why then, Captain, I must tell you I have 
promiced Lady Ru.~port you shall do whatever it is 
she bids you to do in that letter there. 

Dud. Ay, indeed ; have you* undertaken so much, 
Major, without knowing either what she commands,, 
or what I can perform ? 

O'F/a. That's your concern, my dear, not mine ; I 
must keep my word, you know. 

Dud. Or else, I suppose, you and I must measure 
swords. 

OT/tf . Upon my soul you've hit it. 
Dud. That would hardly answer to either of us j 
you and I have, probably, had enough of fighting in 
our time before now. 

O'F/rt. Faith and troth, M3 ,ter Dudley, you may 

^rv. .ftiyXiiiv, ' >*s t.hirty v yeac*,come the time, that I have 

iollowed the trade, and in a pretty many countiies.— 

Let me see— In the war before last I served in tfce 



Aft II.] THE WEST INDIAN. 35 

Pri-h brigade, d'ye see ; there, after bringing off the 
French monarch, I left his service, with a British bul » 
let in my body, and this ribband in my button-hole. 
Lart war I foltowed the fortune, of the German eagle, 
in the corps of grenadiers ; there I had my bellyful 
of fighting, and a plentiful scarcity of every thing else. 
After six and twenty engagements, great and small, 
I Went off with this gash on my scull, and a kiss of 
the Empress Queen's *weet hand, (Heaven bless it !) 
for my pains. Since the peace, my dear, I took a 
little turn with the confederates there in Poland — but 
such another set of madcaps ! — by the Lord Harry, 
I never knew what it was they were scuffling about. 

Dud. Well, Major, I won't add another action to 
the list; you shall keep your promise with Lady Re- 
port ; she requires me to leave London ; I shall go in 
a few days, and you may take what credit you please 
from my compliance. 

O'F/tf. Give me your hand, my dear boy ! this will 
make her my own ; when that's the ca~e, we shall be 
brothers, you know, and we'll share her fortune be- 
tween u?. 

Dud. Not so, Major ; the man, who marries Lady 
Ru^port, will have a fair title to her fortune without 
divi^on. But, I hope your expectations of prevail- 
ing arc found-ed upon good reasons. 

0'F/#. Upon the best grounds in the world; first, 
I think she will comply, because she is a woman : 
secondly, lam per:;uaded she won't hold out long, 
because she's a widow : and thirdly I make sure of 
ber, because I have married five wives, (en militairc, 
-Captain) and never failed yet ; and, for what I know, 
"hey are all alive and merry at this very hour. 

Dud. Well, sir, goon, and prosper ; if you can in- 
spire Lady RUsport with half your chaiity, I shall 
ihink you deserve all her fortune ; at present, I most 
b^ your excuse? good morning to you. [Exit* 

frtfa, A good sensil to man, and very much of & 



m THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, 

soldier; I did not care if I was better acquainted with 
him : bu*: 'ti an awkward kind of country for that ; 
the Bnglioh, I observe, are close friends, but di-tant 
acquainrance. I u pect the old lady has not been 
over generous to poor Dudley ! I shall give her a lit- 
tle touch about that : upon my soul, I know but one 
excuse a per. on can have for giving nothing, and that 
k, like myself, having nothing to give. [Exit, 



Lady Ru sport's House. 

A Dressing Room, 

Miss Rusport and Lucy. 

Miss R, Well, Lucy, you've dislodged the old lady 
at last ; but methought you was a tedious time about 
it. 

Lucy. A tedious time, indeed ; I thought I should 
never have got her out of the house. 

Miss R But where's Charles Dudley ? Run down, 
dear girl, and be ready to let him in ; I think he's as 
long in coming as she was in going. 

Lucy. Why, indeed, madam, you seem the more 
alert of the two, I must say. [Exit, 

Miss. ic.-Nowtheduce take the girl, for putting 
that notion into my head : I am sadly afraid Dudley 
doe-5 not like me ; so much encouragement as I have 
given him to declare himself, I never could get a word 
from him on the subject ! This may be very honour- 
able, but upon my life it's very provoking. By the 
way, I wonder how I look to day : Oh ! shockingly ! 



Act II] THE WEST INDIAN. 37 

hideously pale ! like a witch ! — This is the old lady's 
glass, and she has left some of her wrinkles on it. — 
How frightfully have I put on my cap ! all awry ! and 
my hair dressed so unbecoming ! altogether, I'm a 
most complete fright 

Enter Charles, unobserved, 

Charles. That I deny. 

Miss R. Ah ! 

Charles. Quarrelling with your glass, cousin ? Make 
it up, make it up, and be friends ; it cannot compli- 
ment you more than by reflecting you as you are. 

Miss R. Well, I vow, my dear Charles, that is de- 
lightfully said, and deserves my very best courtesy : 
your flattery, like a rich jewel, has a value, not only 
from its superior iustre, but from its extraordinary 
scarceness : I verily think, this is the only civil speech 
you ever directed to my person in your life. 

Charles. And I ought to ask pardon of your good 
sense, for having done it now. 

Miss R. Nay, now you relapse again : don't you 
know, if you keep well with a woman on the great 
score of beauty, she'll never quarrel with you on the 
trifling article of good sense .?— But any thing serves 
to fill up a dull, yawning, hour, with an insipid cou- 
sin ; you have brighter moments, and warmer spirits, 
for the dear girl of your heart. 

Charles. Oh, fie upon you ! fie upon you ! 

Miss R. You blush, and the reason is apparent : 
you are a novice at hypocrisy ; but no practice can 
make a visit of ceremony pass for a visit of choice : 
love is ever before its time ; friendship is apt. to lag a 
little after it. — Pray, Charles, did you make any ex- 
traordinary haste hither. 

Charles By your question, I see, you acquit me of 
nence of being in love. 
But Why impertinence ? Why the imper* 
T> 



36 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

tinence of being in love I — You have one language 
for me, Charles, and another foi the woman of your 
afFection. 

Charles. You are mistaken — the woman of my af- 
fection shall never hear any other language from me, 
than what Im e to you. 

Miss R I am afraid then, you'll never make your- 
self under, tood by her. 

Charles. It is not tit I should ; there is no need of 
love to make me miserable ; 'tis wretchedness enough 
to be a beggar. 

Miss R. A beggar do you call yourself ! O Charles* 
Charles, rich in every merit and accomplishment, 
whom may you not aspire to ? And why think you 
so unworthily of our sex, as to conclude there is not 
one to be found with sense to discern your virtue, 
and generosity to reward it ? 

Charles. You destress me ; — I must beg to hear no 
more. 

Miss i?. Well, I can be silent. Thus does he al- 
ways serve me, whenever I am about to disclose my- 
self to him. [Aside. 

Charles. Why do you not banish me and my misfor- 
tunes for ever from your thoughts ? 

Mm R. Ay, wherefore do I not, since you never 
allowed me a place in yours ? — But, go, dr ; I have 
no right to stay you ; go where your heart directs 
you ; go to the happy, the distinguished, fair one. 

Charles. Now, by all that's good, you do me 
wrong ; there is no such fair one for me to go to, nor 
have I an acquaintance among the sex, yourself ex- 
cepted, which answers to that description. 

Miss £. Indeed ! 

Charles. In very truth — there, then, let us drop the 
subject. — May you be happy, though I never can ! 

Mhs R. O Charles! give me your hand ; if I have 
■offended you, I ask your pardon : you have been long 



Act II.} THE WEST INDIAN, 39 

acquainted with my temper, and know how to bear 
with its infirmities. 

Charles. Thus, my dear Charlotte, let us seal our 
reconciliation ! — [Kissing her Hand.] Bear with thy 
infirmities ! By heaven, I know not any one failing 
in thy whole composition, except, that of too great a 
partiality for an undeserving man. 

Miss R: Ana you are now taking the very course to 
augment that failing. — A thought strikes me ; — 1 have 
a commfssion that you must absolutely execute for 
me ; — I have immediate occasion for the sum of two 
hundred pounds ; you know my fortune is shut up till 
I am of age ; take this paltry box, (it contain my ear- 
rings, and some other baubles I have no use for) carry 
it to our opposite neighbour, Mr. Stockwell^Idon't 
know where else to apply) leave it as a deposit in his 
hands, and beg him to accommodate tne with the 
sum. 

Charles. Dear Charlotte, what are you about to do ? 
How can you possibly want two hundred pounds ? 

Miss R. How can I possibly do without it, you 
mean ? Doesn't every lady want two hundred pounds ? 
Perhaps, I have lost it at play— perhaps, I mean to win. 
as much to it — perhaps, I want it for two hundred 
different uses. 

Charles. Pooh ! pooh! all this is nothing ; don't I 
know you never play ? 

Miss R. You mistake ; I have a spirit to : et, not 
only this trifle, but my whole fortune upon a stake ; 
therefore make no wry faces, but do as I bid you. 
You will find Mr. Stockwell a very honourable gen- 
tleman. 

Enter Lucy, in Haste. 

Lucy. Dear madam, as I live, here comes the old 
lady in a hackney coach. 

Miss R, The old chariot has given her a second 



40 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, 

tumble : — away with you! you know your way out, 
without meeting her. Take the box and do as I de- 
sire you. 

Charles- I must not dispute your orders . Farewel ! 
[Exeunt Charles and Miss Rusport. 

Enter Lady Rusport, leaning on Major O'Fla^ 
herty's Arm. 

O'FIa. Rest yourself upon my arm; never spare it j 
'tis strong enough ; it has stood harder service than 
you can put it to. 

Lucy, Mercy upon me, what is the matter ? I am 
frightened out of my wits — Has your ladyship had 
an accident? . 

Lady R. O Lucy, the most untoward one in nature . 
I know not how I shall repair it, 

O'F/a. Never go about to repair it, my lady even 
build a new one ; 'twas but a crazy piece of business 
at best. 

Lucy. Bless me, is the old chariot broke down with 
you again ? 

Lady R Broke, child ! I don't know what might 
have been broke, if by great good fortune, this obliging 
gentleman had not been at hand to assist me. 

Lucy Dear madam, let me run and fetch you a cup 
of the cordial drops. 

Lady R. Do, Lucy. [Exit Lucy.] Alas, sir ! ever 
since I lost my husband, my poor nerves have been 

shook to pieces : there hangs his beloved picture ; 

that precious relic, and a plentiful jointure, is all that 
remains to console me for the best of men. 

O'FIa. Let me see — i'faith a comely personage; by 
his fur cloak, I suppose, he wa? in the Russian service ; 
and by the gold chain round his neck, I should guess, 
he had been honoured with the order of St. Catha- 
rine. 

Lady R. No, no ; he meddled with no St. Catha- 



Act II.) THE WEST INDIAN. 41 

vines — that's the habit he wore in his mayoralty ; Sir 
Stephen was Lord Mayor of London— but he h gone, 
and has left me, a poor, weak, solitary widow, behind 
him. 

O'F/a. By all means, then, take a strong, able, 
hearty, man, to repair his loss :— if such a plain fellow 
as one Denis O'Flaherty can please you, I think I 
may venture to say, without any disparagement to the 
gentleman in the fur gown there- — 

Lady R. What are you going to say ? Don't shock 
my ears with any comparisons, I desire. 

O'F/a. Not I, by my soul ; I don't believe there's 
any comparison in the case. 

Enter Lucy. 

Lady R. Oh, are you come ? Give me the drops — 
I'm all in a flutter. 

O'F/a. Harkye, sweetheart, what are those same 
drops ? Have you any more left in the bottle ? I 
didn't care if I took a little sip of them myself. 

Lucy. Oh, sir, they are called the cordial restora- 
tive elixir, or the nervous golden drops ; they are only 
for ladies' cases. 

O'F/a. Yes, yes, my dear, there are gentlemen as 
well as ladies, that stand in need of those same golden 
drops ; they'd suit my case to a tittle. 

Lady R. Well, Major, did you give old Dudley 
my letter, and will the silly man do as I bid him, and 
begone ? 

O'F/a. You are obeyed — he's on his march. 

Lady R. That's well; you have mannaged this 
matter to perfection ; I didn't think he would 
been so easily prevailed upon. 

O'F/a. At the fir t word : no difficulty in life ; 
'twas the very thing he was determined to do, before 
I came ; I never met a more obliging gentleman . 

Lady R. Wei), 'tis no matter ; so 1 am but rid br' 
D 2 



4J THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland 

him, and his distresses : would you believe it, Major 
O'Flaherty, it was but this morning he sent a-begging 
to me for money to fit him out upon some wild-goose 
expedition to the coa^t of Africa, I know not where. 

O'F/a Well, you sent him what he wanted ? 

Lady R. I sent him what he deserved, a flat refusal. 

O'F/tf. You refused him i 

Lady R. Mo^t undoubtedly, 

O'Fla. You sent him nothing J 

Lady R. Not a shilling. 

O'F/a. Good morning to you — Your servant— 

[Going. 

Lady R. Hey day ! what ails the man ? Where are 
you going ? 

O'F/a. Out of your house, before the roof falls on 
my head — to poor Dudley, to share the little modi- 
cum, that thirty years hard service has left me ; I 
wish it was more, for his sake. 

LadyK. Very well, sir ; take your course ; I shan't 
attempt to stop you ; I shall survive it ; it will not 
break my heart, if I never see you more. 

O'F/a. Break your heart ! No, o'my conscience 
will it not. — You preach, and you pray, and you turn 
up your eyes, and all the while you are as hardheart- 
ed as a hyena— A hyena, truly ! by my soul, there 
isn't in the whole creation, so savage an animal as a 
human creature without pity ! [Exit. 

Lady R. A hyena, truly ! [Exit. 



Act III.} THE WEST INDIAN. 4<fc 



ACT THE THIRD, 



SCENB I. 

A Room in Stock well's House. 

Stockwell and Belcour. 

Stock. Gratify me so far, however, Mr. Belcour, as 
to see Miss Rusport ; carry her the sum she wants, 
and return the poor girl her box of diamonds, which 
Dudley left in my hand • : you know what to say on 
the occasion better than I do ; that part of your com- 
mission I leave to your own discretion, and you may 
season it with what gallantry you think fit. 

Bel. You could not have pitched upon a greater 
bungler at gallantry than myself, if you had rum- 
maged every company in the city, and the whole 
court of aldermen into the bargain : — part of your er- 
rand, however, I will do ; but whether it shall be with 
an ill grace or a good one, depends upon the caprice 
of a moment, the humour of the lady, the mode of our 
meeting, and a thousand undefinabie small circum- 
stances, that, nevertheless, determine u> upon all the 
great occasions of life. 

Stock. I persuade myself you will find Miss Rus- 
port an ingenious, worthy, animated, girl. 

Bel. Why, I like her the better, as a woman ; but 
name her not to me as a wife ! No, if ever I marry, it 
must be a stayed, sober, considerate, damsel, with 
blood in her veins as cold as a turtle's : with such e 



44 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

companion at my elbow, for ever whispering in my 
ear — Have a care of this man, he's a cheat ; don't go 
near that woman, she's a gilt ; overhead there's a 
scaffold, underfoot there's a well, Oh, sir ! such a 
woman might lead me up and down this great city 
without difficulty or danger ; but with a girl of Miss 
Rusport's complexion, heaven and earth, sir ! we 
should be duped,undone, anddistracted in a fortnight. 

Stock. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Why, you are become won- 
derous circumspect of a sudden, pupil : and if you 
can find such a prudent damsel as you describe, you 
have my consent — only beware how you chuse ; dis- 
cretion is not the reigning quality amongst the fine 
ladies of the present time ; and, I think, in Miss Rus- 
port's particular, I have given you no bad counsel. 

Bel. Well, well, if you'll fetch me the jewels, I be- 
lieve, I can undertake to carry them to her : but. 
as for the money, I'll have nothing to do with that : 
Dudley would be your fittest ambassador on that oc- 
casion : and, if I mistake not, the most agreeable to 
the lady. 

Stock. Why, indeed, from what I know of the mat- 
ter, it may not improbably be destined to find its way 
mto his pockets. [ Exit. 

Bel. Then, depend upon it, these are not the only 
trinkets she means to dedicate to Captain Dudley. — 
As for me, Stockwell, indeed, wants me to marry ; 
but till I can get this bewitching gir), this incognita, 
out of my head, I can never think of any other wo- 
man. 

Enter a Servant, and delivers a Letter. 

Hey day ! Where can I have picked up a correspond- 
ent already r "lis a most execrable manuscript 

Let me see —Martha Fulmer — Who is Martha Ful- 

mer? — Pshaw ! I wont be at the trouble of decypher- 
ing her damned pothooks. — Hold, hold, hole! ; what 
have we got here ? 



Act ///.] THE WEST INDIAN. 45 

Dear Sir, 

I have discovered the lady, you <vjas so mucbsmit* 
ten with, and can procure you an interview with her; 
if you can be as generous to a pretty girl, as you was to 

a paltry old captain, How did she find that out ? 

you need not ditpair ; come to me immediately ; 

the lady is now in my house, and expects you. 
Tours, 

Martha Fulmer. 

O thou dear, lovely, and enchanting paper ! which I 
wa about to tear into a thou and scraps, devotedly I 
entreat thy pardou ; I have slighted thy contents, 
which an. dciiciou. ; iandered thy character., which 
are divine ; and all the ato-iement I can make, is im- 
plicitly to obey thy mandates. 

Enter STOCKWELL. 

Stock Mr. Eelcour, here are the jewels ; this let- 
ter enclose bills for ihc money ; and, if you will de* 
liver it to Mis Rusport, you'll have no farther trou« 
bleon that score. 

Bet* Ah! tir. the letter, which I have been reading, 
disqualifies me for delivering the letter, which you 
have been writing ; I have other game on foot ; the 
lovelie t girl my eye. ever fea.ted upon U tarted in 
view, and the world cannot now divert me from pur- 
suing her 

Stock. Hey day ! What has turned you thu~ on a 
sudden ? 

Bel. A woman ; one that can turn, and overturn, 
me and my tottering resolutions every way he will. 
Oh, sir, if this is foliy in me, you must rai lat nature : 
you mu t chide the sun, that was vertical at my 
birth, and would not wink upon my nakedner-, but 
swaddled me in the broadest, hottest glare of his me* 
rjdian beams. 



46 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Stock. Mere rhapsody : mere childish rhapsody : 

the libertine's familiar plea Nature made us, 'tis 

true, but we are the responsible creatures of our own 
faults and follies. 

Bel. Sir ! 

Stock. Slave of every face you meet, some hussy 
has inveigled you ; some handsome proffligate (the 
town is full of them ;) and, when once fairly bank- 
rupt in constitution as well as fortune, nature no long- 
er serves as your excuse for being vicious, necessity, 
perhaps, will stand your friend, and you'll reform. 

Bel. You are severe. 

Stock. It fits me to be so— it well becomes a father 
■ — I would say, a friend — How strangely I forgot my- 
self ! — How difficult it is to counterfeit indifference, 
and put a mask upon the heart ! — I've struck him 
hard, he reddens. 

Bel. How could you tempt me so ?— Had you not 
inadvertently dropped the name of father, I fear, our 
friendship, short as it has been, would scarce have 
held me — But even your mistake I reverence — Give 
me your hand— 'tis over. 

Stock. Generous young man ! — Let me embrace you 
— flow shall I hide my tears ? I have been to blame ; 
because I bore you the affection of a father, I rashly 
took up the authority of one. I ask your pardon — 
pursue your course ; I have no right to stop it — 
What would you have me do with these things ? 

Bel. This, if I might advise ; carry the money to 
Miss Rusport immediately ; never let generosity wait 
for its materials ; that part of the business presses. 
Give me the jewels : I'll find an opportunity of deliv- 
ering them into her hands : and your visit may pave 
the way for my reception. [Exit . 

Stock. Be it so ; good morning to you. Farewel, 
advice ! Away goes he, upon the wing for pleasure. 
What various passions he awakens in me ! He pains, 
yet pleases me ; affrights, offends, yet grows upon my 



Act III.) THE WEST INDIAN. 47 

heart. His very failings set him off— for ever trespass* 
ing, for ever atoning, I almost think he would not be so 
perfect, were he free from fault : just such a thought- 
less, headlong thing was I, when I beguiled his mother 
into love. [Exit, 



SCENE II. 



Fulmer's House. 



Enter Fulmer and Mrs Fulmer. 

Ful. I tell you, Patty, you are a fool, to think of 
bringing him and Miss Dudley together : 'twill ruin 
every thing, and blow your whole scheme up to the 
moon at once. 

Mrs Fid. Why, sure, Mr. Fulmer, I may be allowed 
to rear a chicken of my own hatching, as they say. 
Who first sprung the thought, but I, pray ? Who first 
contrived the plot? Who proposed the letter, but 

Ful. And who dogged the gentleman home ? Who 
found out his name, fortune, connexion : that he 
was a West Indian, fresh landed, and full of cash ; a 
gull to our heart's content ; a hot-brained, headlong, 
spark, that would run into our trap, like a wheatear 
under a turf ? 

Mrs. F«/. Hark ! he's come ; disappear, march; and 
leave the field open to my machination. 

[Exit Fulmer. 

Enter BeLCOVK. 

Bel. O, thou dear minister to my happiness, let me 
embrace thee ! Why, thou art my polar star, my pro- 



48 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

pitious constellation, by which I navigate my im* 
patient bark into the port of pleasure and delight. 

Mrs.Ful. Oh, you men are bly creatures ! Do you 
remember now, you cruel, what you said to me this 
morning ? 

Bel. All a jest, a frolic ; never think o'nt ; bury it 
for ever in ablivion : thou ! why, thou art all over 
nectar and ambroaia, powder of pearl and odour of 
roses ; thou hast the youth of Hebe, the beauty of 
Venu. , and the pen of Sappho ; but, in the name of 
all that's lovely, where's the lady ; I expected to find 
her with you 

Mrs. Fa/. Nodoubtyoudid, and these raptures were 
designed for her ; but where nave you loitered ? the 
lady's gone — you are too late ; girlj, of her ?ort, are 
not to be kept waiting, like negro slaves in your -Aigar 
plantations. 

Bel. Gone ! whither is she gone ? tell me, that I 
may follow her. 

Mrs FuL Hold, hold, not so fast, young gentleman, 
this is a case of some delicacy ; should Captain Dud- 
ley know that 1 introduced you to his daughter, he 
is a man ©f such scrupulous honour 

Bel. What do you tell me ! is she daughter to the 
old gentleman I met here this morning ? 

Mrs FuL The same ; him you was so generous 
to. 

Bel. There's an end of the matter then at once; it 
shall never be said of me, that I took advantage of 
the father's necessities to trepan the daughter. 

[Going. 

Mrs Ful. So, so, I've made a wrong cast ; but I 
won't lose him thus Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Bel. What is it you laugh at ? 

Mrs Fid. Your absolute inexperience ; have you 
lived so very little time in this country, as not to know 
that, between young people of equal ages, the term of 
sister is often a cover for that of mistress ? This young 



Act III] THE WEST INDIAN. 49 

lady is, in that sense of the word, sister to young'Dud- 
ley, and consequently daughter to my old lodger. 
Bel. Indeed ! are you serious ? 
Mrs.Ful. Can you doubt it ? I must have been pretty 
well assured of that, before I invited you hither. 

Bel. That's true ; she cannot be a' woman of ho- 
nour, and Dudley is an unconscionable young rogue, 
to think of keeping one fine girl in pay, by raising 
contributions on another ; he shall therefore give her 
up : she is a dear, bewitching, mischievous little 
devil, and he shall positively give her up. 

Mrs. Ful. Ay, now the freak has taken you again ; I 
say give her up ! Out-bid him ; never dream of out- 
blustering him. All things, then, will be made easy 
enough. Let me see, some little genteel present, to 
begin with ; what have you got about you ? Ay, 
search ; I can bestow it to advantage, there's no time 
to be lost. 

Bel. Hang it, confound it, a plague upon't, say I ! 
1 hav'n't a guinea left in my pocket ; I parted from 
my whole stock here this morning, and have forgot 
to supply myself since. 

Mrs. Ful. Mighty well ; let it pass, then : there's 
an end ; think no more of the lady, that's all. 

Bel. Distraction ! think no more af her ? let me 
step home, and provide myself; I'll, be back with you 
in an instant. 

Mrs Ful. Pooh, pooh ! that's a wretched shift ; 
have you nothing of value about you ? there are more 
graceful ways of purchasing a lady's favours ; rings, 
trinkets, jewels ! 

Bel. Jewels! Gadso, I protest, I had forgot: I have 
a case of jewels : but they won't do, I must not part 
from them ; no, no, they are appropriated ; they are 
none of my own. 

Mrs Fid. Let me see, let me see ! Ay, now, this 
were something like : pretty creatures, how they 
rkle! these would ensure success. 
E 



50 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Bel. Indeed! 

Mrs. Ful. These would make her your own for 
ever. 

Bel. Then the deuce take them, for belonging to • 
another person ; I could find in my heart to give them 
the girl, and swear I've lost them. 

Mrs Ful. Ay, do, say, they were stolen out of your 
pocket. 

Bel. No, hang it, that's dishonourable ; here, give 
me the paltry things, Tit write you an order on my 
merchant , for double their value. 

Mrs Ful. An order ! No order for me ! no order 
upon merchants, with their value received, and three 
days grace ; their noting, protesting, and indorsing 
and all their counting-house formalities ; I'll have 
nothing to do with them; leave your diamonds with 
me, and give your order for the value of .them to the 
owner ; the money would be as good as the trinkets, 
I warrant you. 

Bel. Hey ! how ! I never thought of that ; but a 
breach of trust ; 'tis impossible : T never can consent, 
therefore give me the jewels back again. 

Mrs Ful. Take them ; I am now to tell you, the 
lady is in this house. 

Bel. In this house ? 

Mrs Ful. Yes, sir, in this very house ; but what of 
that ? you have got what you like better : your toys, 
your trinkets ; go, go ; Oh ! you are a man of notable 
spirit, are you not ? 

Bel. Provoking creature ! bring me to the sight of 
the dear girl, and dispose of me as you think fit. 

Mrs Ful. And of the diamonds too ? 

Bel. Damn them, I would there was not such a 
bauble in nature ! But, come, come, despatch ; if I 
had the throne of Delhi, I should give it to her. 

Mrs Ful. Swear to me then, that you will keep 
within bounds ; remember, she passes for the sister 



Act III.] THE WEST INDIAN. 51 

of young Dudley. Oh '! if you come to your flights 
and your rhapsodies, she'll be oft" in an instant. 

Bel. Never fear me. 

Mrs Ful. You must expect to hear her talk of her 
father, as she calls him, and her brother, and your 
bounty to her family. 

Bel. Ay, ay, never mind what she talks of, only 
bring her. 

Mr j Ful. You'll be prepared upon that head ? 

Bel. I shall be prepared, never fear : away with 
you. 

Mrs Ful. But, hold, I had forgot : not a word of 
the diamonds ; leave that matter to my management. 

Bel. Hell and vexation ! Get out of the room, or 
I shall run distracted. [Exit Mrs. FuLMER.jOfa cer- 
tain, Belcour, thou art born to be the fool of woman ! 
sure no man sins with so much repentance, or repents 
with so little amendment, as I do. I cannot give 
away another person's property, honour forbids me ; 
and I positively cannot give up the girl ; love, pas- 
sion, constitution, every thing protests against that. 
How shall I decide ? I cannot bring myself to break 
a trust, and I am not at present in the humour to 
baulk my inclinations. Is there no middle way ? Let 

me consider There is, there is : my good genius 

has presented me with one : apt, obvious, honoura- 
ble, the girl shall not go without her baubles : I'll not 
go without the girl, Miss Rusport shan't lose her dia- 
monds ; I'll save Dudley from destruction, and eve- 
ry party shall be a gainer by the project. 

Enter Mrs. Fulmer, introducing Miss Dudley. 

Mrs Ful. Miss Dudley, this is the worthy gentle- 
man you wish to see ; this is Mr. Belcour. 

Lou. As I live, the very man that beset me in the 
streets. [Jlside, 



52 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, 

Bel. An angel, by this light ! Oh, I am gone, past 
all retrieving ! [Aside. 

Lou. Mr ; <. Fulmer, sir, informs me, you are the 
gentleman from whom my father has received such 
civilities. 

Be!. Oh, never name them. 

Lou. Pardon me, Mr. Belcour, they must be both 
named and remembered; and if my father was 
here 

Bel. I am much better pleased with his representa- 
tive. 

Lou. That title is my brother's, sir ; I have no 
claim to it. 

Bel. I believe it. 

Lou. But as neither he nor my father were fortu-. 
nate enough to be at home, I could not resist the op- 
portunity — 

Bel Nor I neither, by my soul, madam : let us 
improve it, therefore. I am in love with you to dis- 
traction ; I was charmed at the first glance ; I at- 
tempted to accost you ; you fled ; I followed ; but 
was defeated of an interview ; at length I have ob- 
tained one, and seize the opportunity of casting my 
person and my fortune at your feet. 

Lou. You astonish me ! are you in your senses, 
or do you make a jest of my mi-fortunes ? Do you 
ground pretences on your generosity, or do you 
make a practice of this folly with every woman you 
meet ? 

Bel. Upon my life, no : as you are the handsomest 
woman I ever met, so you are the first to whom I 
ever made the like professions : as for my generosity, 
, madam, I must refer you on that score to this good 
lady, who I believe has something to offer in my be- 
half. 

Lou. Don't build upon that, sir; I must have bet- 
ter proofs of your generosity, than the mere divest- 



Act III) THE WEST INDIAN. 5s 

ment of a little superfluous dross, before I can credit 
the sincerity of professions so abruptly delivered. 

[Exit hastily. 

Bel. Oh ! ye gods and goddesses, how her anger 
animates her beauty ! [Going out. 

Mrs Ful. Stay, sir.; if you stir a step after her, I 
renounce your interest for ever ; why) you'll ruin 
every thing. 

Bel. Well, I must have her, cost what it will : I 
see she understands her own value though ; a little 
superfluous dross, truly ! She must have better proofs 
of my generosity. 

Mrs Ful. 'Tis exactly as I told you ; your money- 
she calls dross : she's to proud to stain her fingers 
with your coin ; bait your hook well with jewels ; try- 
that experiment, and she's your own. 

Bel. Take them ; let them go ; lay them at her 
feet; I must get out of the scrape as I can ; my pro- 
pensity is irresistible : there ; you have them ; they 
are yours ; they are hers : but, remember, they are a 
trust ; I commit them to her keeping, till I can buy 
them off, with something she shall think more valu- 
able ; now tell me when shall I meet her ? 

Mrs Ful. How can 1 tell that ? Don't you see what 
an alarm you have put her into ? Oh ! you're a rare 
one ! But go your ways for this while ; leave her to 
my management, and come to me at seven this even-. 
ing ; but remember not to bring empty pockets with 
you Ha ! ha ! ha ! {Exeunt severly* 

SCENE III. 

Lady Ru sport's House. 
Enter Miss Rusport, followed by a Servant. 

Miss R- Desire Mr. Stockwcll to walk in. 

(Exit Servant 
E2 



S'4 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 



Enter Stockwell. 

Stock. Madam, your most obedient servant : I am 
honoured with your commands, by Captain Dudley; 
and have brought the money with me, as you direct- 
ed ; I understand the sum you have occasion for is 
two hundred pounds. 

Miss R* It is, sir ; I am quite confounded at your 
taking this trouble upon yourself, Mr. Stockwell. 

Stock. There is a Bank note, madam, to the amount : 
your jewels are in safe hands, and will be delivered to 
you directly. If I had heen happy in being better 
known to you, I should have hoped you would not 
have thought it necessary to place a deposit in my 
hand:, for so trifling a sum a~ you have now required 
me to supply you with. I have only to request, ma- 
dam, that you will allow Mr. Belcour, a young gen- 
tleman, in whose happiness I particularly interest my- 
self, to have the honour *)f delivering you the box of 
jewels. 

Miss R. Most gladly ; any friend of yours cannot 
fail of being welcome here. 

Stock. I flatter myself you will not find him totally 
undeserving your good opinion ; an education not of 
the strictest kind, and strong animal spirits, are apt 
sometimes.to betray him into youthful irregularities ; 
but a high principle of honour, and an uncommon 
benevolence, in the eye of candour, will, I hope, atone 
for any faults, by which these good qualities are not 
impaired. 

Miss R. I daresay Mr Belcour's behaviour wants 
no apology : we have no right to be over strict in can- 
vassing the morals of a common acquaintance. 

Stock. I wish it may he my happiness to see Mr. 
Belcour in the list, not of your common, but particu- 
lar acquaintance — of your friends. Mas Ruspovt — I 
dare not be more explicit. 



Act III.] THE WEST INDIAN. 55 

Miss R. Nor need you , Mr. Stockwell : I shall be 
Studious to deserve his friendship ; and, though I 
have long since unalterably placed my affection* on 
another, I trust, I have not left myself insensible to 
the merits of Mr. Belcour ; and hope, that neither 
you nor he will, for that reason, think me less worthy 
your good opinion and regards. 

Stock. Miss Rusport, I sincerely wish you happy : 
I have no doubt you have placed your affection on p. 
deserving man ; and I have no right to combat your 
choice. [Exeunt. 

Enter Belcour, preceded by a Servant. 

Ser-v. I ask your honour's pardon ; I thought my 
young lady wa3 here : who shall I inform her would 
speak to her ? 

Bel. Belcour is my name, sir ; and pray beg your 
lady to put her-elf in no hurry on my account ; for 
I'd sooner see the devil, than see her face. [Exit Ser- 
vant. In the name of all that's mischievous, why did 
Stockwell drive me hither in such haste ? A pretty 
figure, truly, I shall make! an ambassador, without 
credentials ! Blockhead that I was, to charge myself 
with her diamonds ; officious, meddling puppy ! 
Now they are irretrievably gone : that suspicious 
jade, Fulmer, wouldn't part even with a sight of 
them, though I would have ransomed them at twice 
their value. Now must I trust to my poor wits, to 
bring me off: a lamentable dependence. Fortune 
be my helper : Here comes the girl — If she is noble 
minded, as she is said to be, she will forgive me ; if 
not, 'tis a lost cause ; for I have not thought of one 
word in my exciue. 

Enter Miss Rusport. 

Miss R. Mr. Belcour, I'm proud to see you : your 
friend, Mr. Stockwell, prepared me to expect this 



56 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland 

honour ; and I am happy in the opportunity of be- 
ing known to you. 

Bel. A fine girl, by my soul ! Now what a cursed 
hang dog do I look like ! [Aside. 

Miss R. You are newly arrived in this country, 
sir ? 

Bel. Just landed, madam ; just set ashore, with a 
large cargo of Muscavado sugars, rum puncheons, 
mahogany slabs, wet sweetmeats, and green paro- 
quets. 

Miss R. May I ask you how you like London, sir ? 

Bel. To admiration : I think the town and the 
townsfolk are exactly suited ; 'tis a great, rich, over- 
grown, noisy, tumultuous place : the whole morning 
is a bustle to get money, and the whole afternoon is 
a hurry to spend it. 

Miss R. Are these all the observations you have 
made ? 

Bel. No, madam ; I have observed the women are 
very captivating, and the men very soon caught. 

Miss R. Ay, indeed ! Whence do you draw that 
conclusion ? 

Bel. From infallible guides ; the first remark I col- 
lect from what I now sec, the second from what I 
now feei. 

Miss R. Ob, the deuce take you ! But, to wave 
this subject ; I believe, sir, this was a visit of business, 
not of compliment ; was it not? 

Bel. Ay ; now comes on my execution. 

Miss R. You have some foolish trinkets of mine, 
Mr. Belcour ; havn't you I 

Bel. No, in truth ; they are gone in search of a 
trinket, still more foolish than themselv .1, [a 1 tde» 

Miss R. Some diamonds I mean, sir ; Mr. Stock- 
well informed me you was charged with them. 

Bel. Oh, yes, madam ; but I have the most, trea- 
cherous memory in life — Mere they are ! Pray 



Act III.} THE WEST INDIAN. 57 

put them up ; they're all right ; you need not exa- 
mine them. [Gives a box. 

Mirs R. Hey day ; right, sir ! Why these are not 
my diamonds ; these are quite different ; and, as it 
should seem, of much greater value. 

Bel. Upon my life, I'm glad on't ; for then I hope 
you value them more than your own. 

Miss R. As a purchaser I should, but not as an 
owner; you mistake; these belong to somebody else. 

Bel. 'Tis yours, I'm afraid, that belong to sombo- 
dy else. 

Miss R. What is it you mean ? I must insist upon 
your taking them back again. 

Bel. Pray, madam, don't do that ; I shall infalli- 
bly lose them ; I have the worst luck with diamonds 
of any man living. 

Miss R. That you might well say, was you to give 
me these in the place of mime ; but, pray, sir, what 
is the reason of all this ? Why have you changed the 
jewels ? And where have you dUpoed of mine ? 

Bel Miss Rusport, I cannot invent a lie for my 
life ; and, if it was to save it, I cou'dn't tell one : I 
am an idle, dissipated, unthinking fellow, not worth 
your notice ; in short, I am a West Indian ; and you 
must try me according to the charter of my colony, 
not by a jury of English spinsters : the truth is, I have 
given away your jewels ; caught with a pair of spark- 
ling eyes, whose lustre blinded theirs, I served your 
property as I should my own, and lavished it away ; 
let me not totally despair of your forgiveness ; I fre- 
quently do wrong, but never with impunity ; if your 
displeasure is added to my own, my puni hment 
will be too severe. When I parted from the jewels, 
I had not the honour of knowing their owner. 

Miss R. Mr. Belcour, your sincerity charms me : 
I enter at once into your character, and I make all 
the allowances for it you can desire. I take your 
jewels for the present, because I know there is no 



58 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

other way of reconciling you to yourself; but, if I 
give way to your spirit in one point, you must yield 
to mine in another : remembei , I will not keep more 
than the value of my own jewels ; there is no need to 
be pillaged by more than one woman at a time, sir. 

Enter Servant, and delivers a Letter. 

Does your letter require such haste ? 

Serv. I was bade to give it into your own hands, 
madam. 

Miss R. From Charles Dudley, I see — have I your 
permission ? Good heaven, what do I read ! Mr. 
Belcour, you are concerned in this [reads. 

Dear Charlotte, 

In the midst of our distress* Providence 
has cast a benefactor in our (way* after the most unex- 
pected manner : a young West Indian* rich* and (with a 
^warmth of heart peculiar to his climate* has rescued my 
father from his troubles* satisfied his (wants* and enabled 
him to accomplish his exchange : (when I relate to you 
the manner in (which this (was done*you (will be charmed: 
I can only no(w add* that it (was by chance (we found out 
that his name is Belcour* and that he is a friend of Mr. 
StockweW s . I lose not a moment's time* in making you 
acquainted (with this fortunate event* for reasons (which 
delicacy obliges me to suppress ; but* perhaps* if you have 
not received the money on your jewels* you (will not think 
it necessary note to do it. I have the honour to be* 
Dear madam* 

most faithfully yours* 

Charles Dudley. 

Is this your doing, sir ? Never was generosity so 
worthily exerted. 

Bel. Or so greatly overpaid. 

Miss R. After what you have now done for this no- 
ble, but indigent family, let me not scruple to un- 



Act III.] THE WEST INDIAN. 59 

fold the whole situation of my heart to you. Know- 
then, sir, (and don't think the worse of me for the 
frankness of my declaration,) that such is my attach- 
ment to the son of that worthy officer, whom you re- 
leived, that the moment I am of age, and in posses- 
sion of my fortune, I should hold myself the happiest 
of women, to share it with young Dudley. 

Bel. Say you so, madam ! then let me perish if I 
don't love and reverence you above all womankind ! 
and, if such is your generous resolution, never wait 
till you are of age ; life is too short, pleasure too fu- 
gitive. I'll equip you for your escape — I'll convey 
you to the man of your heart, and away with you 
then to the first hospitable parson that will take you 
in. 

Miss R. But, had I spirit to accept your offer, 
which is not improbable, wouldn't it be a mortifying- 
thing, for a fond girl to find herself mistaken, and sent 
back to her home, like a vagrant 2 — and such, for 
what I know, might be my case. 

Bel. Then he ought to be proscribed the society of 
mankind for ever — Ay, ay, 'tis the sham sister, that 
makes him thus indifferent ; 'twill be a meritorious 
ofEce, to take that girl out of the way. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Miss Dudley, to wait on you, madam. 

Bel. Who ? 

Serv. Miss Dudley. 

Miss R. What's the matter, Mr. Belcour ? Are you 
frighted at the name of a pretty girl ? — 'Tisthe sister 

of him we were speaking of Pray admit her. 

[exit Servant. 

Bel. The sister ! — So, so ; he has imposed on her 
too — this is an extraordinary visit, truly. Upon my 
soul, the assurance of some folks is not to be ac« 
for. 



63 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Miss R. Loui.;a Dudley, you surprise me ; I never 
saw you act thus before : can't you bear a little in- 
nocent raillery before the man of your heart. 

Lou. The man of my heart madam? Be assured 
I never wa- so vis-ionary to aspire to any man whom 
Mi ;s Rusport honours with her choice. 

Miss R. My choice, my dear ! Why, we are play- 
ing at cross purpose.. : bow entered it into your head 
that Mr. Belcour was tht man of my choice ? 

Lou. Why, didn't he pre.-ent you with those dia- 
monds ? 

Miss R. Well: perhaps he did — and pray, Louisa, 
have you no diamonds ? 

Lou. I diamonds, truly ! Who should give me dia- 
monds ? 

Miss R. Who, but this very gentleman : apropos ! 
here comes your brother 

Enter Charles 

I insist upon referring our dispute to him : your sis- 
ter and I, Charles, have a quarrel ; Belcour, the hero 
of your letter, has just left us — somehow or other, 
Louisa's bright eyes have caught him ; and the poor 
fellow's fallen desperately in love with her — (don't 
interrupt me, hussy) — Well, that's excusable enough, 
you'll say ; but the jest of the story is, that this hair- 
brained spark, who does nothing like other people, 
has given her the very identical jewels, which you 
pledged for me to Mr. Stockwell ; and will you be- 
lieve, that this little demure slut made up a face, and 
squeezed out three or four hypocritical tears, because 
I rallied her about it ? 

Charles. I'm all astonishment! Louisa, tell me, 
without reserve, has Mr. Belcour given you any dia- 
monds ? 

Lou. None upon my honour. 

Charles. Has he made any professions to you ? 

Lou. He has ; but altogether in a style 60 whims:- 



Act IF.] THE WEST INDIAN. 63 

cal and capricious, that the best which can be said of 
diem is to tell you, that they seemed more the result 
of good spirits an good manners. 

Mz'.fj R A- ay 3 now the murder's out ; he's in 
love with her, and he has no very great dislike to 
him ; trust to my observations, Charles, for that : as 
to the diamonds ere' some mistake about them, 
andyou mu.>t clear \i up : three minutes conversation 
with him will pat evcty thing in a right train ; go, 
go, Charles, 'tL a brother's business ; about it in- 
stantly ; ten to one you'll find him over the way, at 
Mr. Stiockweli'.. 

Charles . I confer, I'm impatient to have the case 
cleared up ; I' 1 take your advice, and find him out : 
good bye to you 

Mis j R Your servant : my life upon it, you'll find 
Be cour a man of honour. Come, Louisa, let us ad- 
journ to my dressing-room ; I've a little private busi- 
"ne to transact with you, before the old lady comes 
up to tea, and interrupts us. [Exeunt* 



ACT THE FOURTH. 

SCENE I. 

A Room in Fulmer's House* 

Enter Charles Dudley and Louisa. 

Charles. Well, Louisa, I confess the force of what 
you say : i accept Miss Ru : port's bounty ; and, when 
you see my generous Charlotte, tell her but have 



62 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Miss R. Loui;a Dudley, you surprise me ; I never 
saw you act thus before : can't you bear a little in- 
nocent raillery before the man of your heart. 

Lou. The man of my heart madam? Be assured 
I never wa> so vissionary to aspire to any man whom 
Miss Rusport honours with her choice. 
' Miss R. My choice, my dear ! Why, we are play- 
ing at cro 'S purpose:. : bow entered it into your head 
that Mr. Belcour was the man of my choice ? 

Lou. Why, didn't he present you with those dia- 
monds ? 

Mi// R. Well: perhaps he did— and pray, Louisa, 
have you no diamonds ? 

Lou. I diamonds, truly ! Who should give me dia- 
monds ? 

Miss R. Who, but this very gentleman : apropos ! 
here comes your brother 

Enter Charles 

I insist upon referring our dispute to him : your sis- 
ter and I, Charles, have a quarrel ; Belcour, the hero 
of your letter, has just left us — somehow or other, 
Louisa's bright eyes have caught him ; and the poor 
fellow's fallen desperately in love with her — (don't 
interrupt me, hussy) — Well, that's excusable enough, 
you'll say ; but the jest of the story is, that this hair- 
brained spark, who does nothing like other people, 
has given her the very identical jewels, which you 
pledged for me to Mr. Stockwell ; and will you be- 
lieve, that this little demure slut made up a face, and 
squeezed out three or four hypocritical tears, because 
I rallied her about it ? 

Charles. I'm all astonishment ! Louisa, tell me, 
without reserve, has Mr. Belcour given you any dia- 
monds ? 

Lou. None upon my honour. 

Charles, Has he made any professions to you ? 

Lou, He has ; but altogether in a style so whimsi- 



Jet IF.] THE WEST INDIAN. 63 

cal and capricious that the best which can be said of 
£hem is to tell you, that they seemed more the result 
of good pirivs an good manners. 

Mz'.u R A- ay, now the murder's out ; he's in 
love with he r, and he has no very great dislike to 
him ; trust to my observations, Charles, for that : as 
to the diamonds, ere' some mistake about them, 
and y oil imibt cleat it up : three minutes conversation 
with him will put every thing in a right train ; go, 
go, Charles, 'tL a brother's business ; about it in- 
stantly ; ten to one you'll find him over the way, at 
Mr. Stockweft's. 

Charles . I confess, I'm impatient to have the case 
cleared up ; I' 1 take your advice, and find him out : 
good bye to you 

Mi/ j R- Your servant : my life upon it, you'll find 
Be cour a man of honour. Come, Louisa, let us ad- 
journ to my dresbing-ropm ; I've a little private busi- 
ne to transact with you„ before the old lady comes 
up to tea, and interrupts us. [Exeunt* 



ACT THE FOURTH. 

SCENE I. 

A Room in Fulmer's House. 

Enter Charles Dudley and Louisa. 

Charles. Well, Loui.a, I confess the force of what 
you say : i accep Miss Rusport's bounty ; and, when 
you see my generous Charlotte, tell her but have 



64 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

a care, there is a selfishness even in gratitude, when 
jt is too profuse ; to be overthankful for any one fa- 
vour, is in effect to lay out for another ; the best re- 
turn I could make my benefactress would be, never to 
see her more. 

Lou. I understand you. 

Charles. We, that are poor, Louisa, should be cau- 
tious : for this reason. I would guard you against 
Belcour ; at least, till I can unravel the mystery of 
Mis ; . Rusport's diamonds : I was disappointed of 
finding him at Mr. Stockweli's, and am now going in 
search of him again : he may intend honourably ; 
but, 1 confess to you, I am staggered ; think no more 
of him, therefore, foi the present : of this be sure, 
while I have life, and you have honour, I will protect 
you, or perbh in your defence. [Exit. 

Lou. Think of him no more ! Well, I'll obey; but 
if a wandering uninvited thought should creep by 
chance into my bosom, must I not give the harmless 
wretch a shelter ? 

Enter Belcour. 

Bel. Alone, by all that's happy ! 

Lou. Ah ! 

Bel. Oh ! shriek not, start not, stir not, loveliest 
creature ! but let me kneel, and gaze upon your 
beauties. 

Lou. Sir ! Mr. Belcour, rise ! what is it you do ? 

Bel. See, I obey you ; mould me as you will, be- 
hold your ready servant ! New to your country, ig- 
norant of your manners, habits, and desires, I put 
myself into your hands for instruction ; make me 
only such as you can like yourself, and I shall be 
happy. 

Lou. I must not hear this, Mr. Itelcour ; go ; 
should he, that parted from me but this minute, now 
return, I tremble for the consequence. 



Act ir.] THE WEST INDIAN. c5 

Bel. Fear nothing ; let him come: I love you, ma- 
dam ; he'll find it hard to make me unsay that. 

Lou. You terrify me ; your impetuous temper 
frightens me ; you know my situation ; it is not gen- 
rous to persuade me thus. 

|f Bel. True ; I do know your situation, your real 
one, Miss Dudley, and am resolved to snatch you 
from it ; 'twill be a meritorius act : the old Captain- 
shall rejoice, Mi 3 s Ru-port shall be made happy. ; and 
even he, even your beloved brother, with who-* re- 
sentment you threaten me, shall in the end applaud 
and thank me. Come, thou art a dear enchanting 
girl, and I'm determined not to live a minute longer 
without thee. 

Lou. Hold ! are you mad ? I see you are a bold 
assuming man, and know not whereto stop. 

Bel. Who, that beholds itich beauty can ? By hea» 
ven, you put my blood into a flame. Provoking 
girl ! is it within the stretch of my fortune to content 
you ? what is it you can further ask, that I am not 
ready to grant ? 

Lou. Yes with the same facility, that you bestowed 
upon me Miss Rusport's diamonds. For shame! for 
shame ! was that a manly story ? 

Bel. So ! so ! these devilish diamonds meet me 
every where — Oh ! I could tear my tongue out for 
saying a word about the matter. 

Lou. Go to her then, and contradict it ; till that 
is done, my reputation is at stake. 

Bel. Her reputation ! Now she has got upon that v 
she'll go on for ever. — What is there I will not do for 
your sake ? I will go to Miss Rusport.. 

Lou. Do so : restore her own jewels to her, which 
I suppose you kept back for the purpose of present- 
ing others to her of a greater value ; but for the fu- 
ture, Mr.Belcour, when you would do a gallant^ ac- 
tion to that lady, don't let it be at my expense. 

F2 



66 THE WEST INDIAN- [Cumberland. 

Bel. I see where she points : she is willing enough 
to give up Miss Busporfs diamonds, now she finds 
she shall be a gainer by the exchange. Be it so ! tis 
what I wished. — Well, madam, I will return to Miss 
Rusport her own jewels, and you shall have others 
of tenfold their value. 

Lou. No, sir, you err most widely ; it is my good 
opinion, not my vanity, which you must bribe. 

Bel Why whatthe devil would she have now ? — 
Miss Dudley, it is my wish to obey and please you ; 
but I have some apprehension that we mistake each 
other. 

Lou. I think we do : tell me, then, in few words, 
what it is you aim at. 

Bel. In few word; , then, and in plain honesty, I 
mu-t tell you, so entirely am I captivated with you, 
that had you but been such as it would have become 
me to have called my wife, I had been happy in 
knowing you by that name; as it is, you are wel- 
come to partake my fortune, give me in return your 
person, give me pleasure, give me love ; free, disen- 
cumbered, antimatrimonial love; 

Lou. Stand off, and never let me see you more. 

Bel. Hold, hold, thou dear, tormenting, tantalizing, 
girl ! Upon my knees, I swear you shall not stir till 
you have consented to my bliss. 

Lou. Unhand me, sir : O, Charles ! protect me, 
rescue me, redress me. [Exit. 

Enter Charles Dudley. 

Charles. Draw, villain, and defend yourself. 

Bel. Villain ! 

Charles. The man, who wrongs that lady, is a villain 
— Draw i 

Bel. Never fear me, young gentleman j brand me 
for a coward, if I balk you. 



Act IF,} THE WEST INDIAN. gv 

Charles. Yet hold ! let me not be too hasty : your 
name, I think, is Belcour. 

Bel. Well, sir. 

Charles, How is it, Mr. Belcour, you have done 
this mean, unmanly, wrong ; beneath the mask of 
generosity, to give this fatal stab to our domestic 
peace I You might have had my thanks, my blessing : 
take my defiance now. 'Tis Dudley speaks to you : 
the brother, the protector, of that injured lady. 

Bel. The brother ! give yourself a truer title. 

Charles. What is't you mean ? 

Bel. You question me too late ; the name of Bel- 
cour and of villain never met before; had you in- 
quired of me before you uttered that rash word, you 
might have saved yourself or me a mortal error ; now, 
sir* I neither give nor take an explanation ; so, come 
on ! {They fight. 

Enter Louisa, and afterwards O'Flaherty. 

Lou. Holer,' hold, for heaven's sake hold ! 

O'Fla. rlell and confusion ! What's all this uproar 
for ? Can'tycu leave off cutting one another's throats, 
and miner' what the poor girl says to you ? You've 
done a notable thing, hav'nt you both, to put her 
into such a flurry ? I think, o'my conscience, she's 
the most frighted of the three. 

Char$$£ Dear Louisa, recollect yourself; why did 
you interfere ? 'tis in your cause. 

Bel.%\o\\' could. I kill him for caressing her. 

O'FJa* O, sir^jouK most obedient ! You are the 
gentleman I had tWironour of meeting here before; 
you was then runuing off at full speed, like a Cal* 
muck,, now you are)- tilting and driving like a bed- 
lamite, with this lacl here, that seems as mad as your- 
self : 'tis pity but your country had a little more em- 
ployment for you both. 

Bel. Mr. Dudley, when you have recovered the 
lady, you know where I am to be found. {E>- 



68 THE WEST NDlAN. [Cumberland 

O'Fla. Well, then can't you stay where you are, 
and that will save the trouble of looking after you? 
Yon volatile fellow thinks to give a man the meeting 
by getting out of his way : by my soul, 'tis a round- 
about method that of his. But I think he called you 
Dudley ; harkye, young man, are you son of my 
friend, the old Captain. 

Charles. I am. Help me to convey this lady to 
her chamber, and I shall be more at leisure toanswer 
your questions. 

O'Fla. Ay will I : come along, pretty one ; if you've 
had wrong done you, young man, you need look no 
further for a second ; Dennis O'Flaherty's your man 
for that : but never draw your sword before a woman , 
Dudley ; damn it, never while you live draw your 
ipword before a woman, [Exeunt , 



SCENE II. 



Lady Rusport's House. 



Enter Lady Rusport and Servant. 

Serv. An elderly gentleman, who says his name h 
Varland, desires leave to wait on your ladyship. 

Lady R Show him in ; the very man I wish to 
«ee. Varland, he was Sir Oliver's solicitor, and privy 
to all his affairs : he brings some good tidings ; some 
fresh mortgage, or another bond come to light ; they 
start up everyday. 

Enter Varland. 

Mr. Varland, I'm glad to see you ; you are heartily 
welcome, honest Mr. Varland ; you and I hav'nt 



Act IF.} THE WEST INDIAN. 6B 

met since our late irreparable loss : how have you 
passed your time this age ? 

Far. Truly, my lady, ill enough : I thought I 
must have followed good Sir Oliver. 

Lady R. Alack-a-day, poor man ! Well, Mr. Var- 
land, you find me here overwhelmed with trouble 
and fatigue ; torn to pieces with a multiplicity of af- 
fairs ; a great fortune poured upon me, unsought for 
and unexpected : 'twas my good father's will and 
pleasure it should be so, and I must submit. 

Far. Your ladyship inherits under a will made in 
the year forty-five, immediately after Captain Dud- 
ley's marriage with your sister. 

Lady R. 1 do so, Mr Varland ; I do so. 

Par. I well remember it ; I engrossed every syl- 
lable ; but I am surprised to find your ladyship set 
to little store by this vast accession. 

Lady R. Why, you know, Mr. Varland, I am a 
moderate woman ; I had enough before ; a small 
matter satisfies me ; and Sir Stephen Report (Hea- 
ven be his portion !) took care I shou'dn't want 
that. 

Far. Very true, very true ; he did so ; and I am 
overjoyed to find your ladyship in this disposition ; 
for, truth to say, I w as not without apprehension the 
news I had to communicate would have been of some 
prejudice to your ladyship's tranquility. 

Lady R. News, sir ! what news have you for me. 

Far. Nay, nothing to alarm you ; a trifle, in your 
present way of thinking : 1 have a will of Sir Oliver's 
you have never seen. 

Lady R. A will ! impossible ! how came you by it, 

p ra y- 

Far. 1 drew it up, at his command in his last ill- 
ness : it will save you a world of trouble : it gives 
his whole estate from you to his grandson, Charles 
Dudley, 



70 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Lady R. To Dudley ? his estate to Charles Dud- 
ley ? I can't support it! I shall faint ! You have killed 
Hie, you vile man ! I never shall survive it ! 

Far. Lookye there now : I protest, I thought you 
■would have rejoiced at being clear of the incum- 
brance. 

Lady R. 'Tis false ; 'tis all a forgery, concerted be- 
tween you and Dudley ; why else did I never Jiear of 
it before ? 

Far. Have patience, my lady, and I'll tell you : 
By Sir Oliver's direction, I was to deliver this will 
into no hands but his grandson Dudley's : the young 
gentleman happened to be then in Scotland ; 1 was 
despatched thither in search of him : the hurry and 
fatigue of my journey brought on a fever by the way, 
which confined me in extreme danger for several 
days ; upon my recovery, I pursued my journey, 
found young Dudley had left Scotland in the inte- 
rim, and am now directed hither ; where, as soon as 
I can find him, doubtless, I shall discharge my con- 
science, and fulfil my commission. 

Lady R. Dudley then, as yet, knows nothing of 
this will ? 

Far. Nothing ; that secret rests with me. 

Lady R. A thought occurs 5 by this fellow's talk- 
ing of his conscience, I should guess it was upon 
sale, [aside.] — Come, Mr. Varland, if 'tis as you say, 
I must submit. I was some what flurried at first, 
and forgot myself; I ask your pardon : this is no 
place to talk of business ! step with we into my room'; 
we will there compare the will, and resolve accord- 
ingly oh ! would your fever had you, and I had 

your paper i [Exeunt. 

Enter Miss Rusport, Charles, a«iO'FLAHERTY, 

Mhs R? So, so ! My lady and her lawyer have re* 



Act IF.] THE WEST INDIAN. 71 

tired to close confabulation ; now, Major, if you are 
the generous man I take you for, grant me one fa- 
vour. r 

O'F/rt. 'Faith will I, and not think much of my ge- 
nerosity neither ; for, though it may not be in my 
power to do the favour you ask, look you, it can 
never be in my heart to refuse it. 

Charles Could this man's tongue do justice to his 
thoughts, how eloquent would he be ! [aside. 

Miss R- Plant yourself, then, in that room : keep 
guard for a few moments upon the enemy's motions, 
in the chamber beyond ; and, if they should attempt 
asally, stop their march a moment, till your friend 
h ere can make good his retreat down the back-stairs. 

O'F/tf. A word to the wise! I'm an old campaign- 
er ; make the best u.;e of your time ; and trust me 
for tying the old cat up to the picket. 

Miss R. Hush ! hush ! not so loud. 

Charles. 'Tis the office of a centinel, Major, you 
have undertaken, rather than that of a field officer. 

OFla. 'Tis the office of a friend, my dear boy; 
and, therefore, no disgrace to a general. [Exit. 

Miss R. Well, Charles, will you commit yourself 
to me for a few minutes ? 

Charles. Most readily ; and let me, before one goes 
by, tender you the only payment I can ever make for 
your abundant generosity 

Miss R. Hold, hold ! so vile a thing as money 
must not come between* us. What shall I say ! O, 
Charles ! O, Dudley ! What difficulties have you 
thrown upon me! Familiarly as we havelived, I shrink 
not at what I am doing ; and, anxiously as I have 
sought this opportunity, my fears almost persuade 
me to abandon it. 

Charles. You alarm me ! 

Miss R. Your looks and actions have been so dis- 
tant, and at this moment are so deterring, that, was it 
not for thekopethat delicacy,and not disgust, inspires 



72 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

this conduct in you, I should sink with shame and 
apprehension ; but time presses ; and I must speak ; 
and plainly too — Was you now in possession of your 
grandfather's estate, as justly you ought to be ; and, 
was you inclined to seek a companion for life, should 
you, or should you not, in that case, honour your 
unworthy Charlotte with your choice ? 

Charles. My unworthy Charlotte ! So judge me 
heaven, there is not a circumstance on earth so valu- 
able as your happiness, so dear to me as your person ; 
but to bring poverty, disgrace, reproach from friends, 
ridicule from all the world, upon a generous bene- 
factress ; thievishly to steal into an open, and unre- 
served, ingenuous heart, O Charlotte ! dear, unhappy 
girl, it is not to be done. 

Miss R. Nay, now you rate too highly the poor 
advantages fortune alone has given me over you : 
how otherwise could we bring our merits to any bal- 
ance ? Come, my dear Charles, I have enough ; make 
that enough still move, by sharing it with me : sole 
heiress of my father's fortune, a short time will put it 
in my disposal ; in the mean while you will be sent 
to join your regiment ; let us prevent a separation, 
by setting out this very night for that happy country, 
where marriage is still free : carry me this moment 
to Belcour's lodgings. 

Charles Belcour's j 1 — The name is ominous ; there's 
murder in it : bloody, inexorable honour ! [Aside. 

Miss R. D'ye pause ? Put me into his hands, while 
you provide the means for our escape : he is the mo.t 
generous, the most honourable of men. 

Charles. Honourable ! most honourable ! 

Miss R. Can you doubt it ? Do you demur ? Have 
you forgot your letter ? Why, Belcour, 'twas that 
prompted me to this proposal, that promised to sup- 
ply the means, that nobly offered his unasked assist- 
ance 



Act IF] THE WEST INDIAN. 73 

Enter O'Flaherty, hastily. 

O'FIa. Run, run ; for holy St. Anthony's sake, to 
hor-je, and away ! The conference is broke up, and 
the old lady advances upon a full Piedmontese trot, 
within pistol shot of your encampment. 

Miss R. Here, here, down the back stairs ! O 
C harles, remember me ! 

Cbar/es. Farewel ! Now, now I feel myself a cow- 
ard. [Exit. 

Miss R. What does he mean ? 

O'FIa. Ask no questions, but begone : she has 
cooled the lad's courage, and wonders he feels like a 
coward. There's a damned deal of mischief brewing 
between this hyena and her lawyer : egad I'll step be- 
hind this screen, and listen : a good soldier must some- 
times fight in ambush, as well as open field. [Retires. 

Enter VARLAND. 

Far. Let me consider-r-Five thousand pounds, 
prompt payment, for destroying this scrap of paper, 
not worth five farthings ; 'tis a fortune easily earned ; 
yes ; and 'tis another man's fortune easily thrown 
away ; 'tis a good round sum, to be paid down at 
once for a bribe ; but 'tis a damned rogue's trick in 
me to take it. 

O'FIa. So, so ! this fellow speaks truth to himself, 
though he lies to other people — but, hush ! [Aside. 

Far. 'Tis breaking the trust of my benefactor, 
that's a foul crime ; but he's dead, and never can re- 
proach me with it ; and 'tis robbing young Dudley of 
his lawful patrimony ; that's a hard case 5 but he's 
alive, and knows nothing of the matter. 

O'FIa. These lawyers are so used to bring off the 
rogueries of others, that they are never without an 
excuse for their own . [Aside . 

Far, Were I assured now that Dudley would give 
H 



74 THE WEST INDIAN, [Cumberland. 

me half the money for producing this will, that Lady 
Rusport does for concealing it, I would deal with 
hitn, and be an honest man at half price ; I wish every 
gentleman of my profession could lay his hand on his 
heart, and say the same thing. 

O'FIa- A bargain, old gentleman ! Nay, never 
start, nor stare, you wasnt afraid of your own con- 
science, never be afraid of me. 

Far. Of you, sir ! who are you, pray ? 

O'FIa. I'll tell you who I am : you seem to wish to 
be honest, but want the heart to set about it ; now I 
am the very man in the world to make you so ; for, 
if you do not give me up that paper this very instant, 
by the soul of me, fellow, I will not leave one whole 
bone in your skin that shan't be broken. 

Far. What right have you, pray, to take this paper 
from me ? 

O'F/a. What right have you, pray, to keep it from 
young Dudiey 1 I don't know what it contains, but I 
am apt to think it will be safer in my hands than in 
your: ; therefore give it me without more words, and 
save yourself a beating : do now ; you had best. 

Far. Well, sir, I may as well make a grace of ne- 
cessity. There; I have acquitted my conscience, at 
the expense of five thousand pounds. 

O'F/a. Five thousand pounds ! Mercy upon me ! 
When there are such temptations in the law, can we 
wonder if some of the corps are a disgrace to it ? 

Far. Well, you have got the paper ; if you are an 
honcet man, give it to Charles Dudley. 

O'VIa* An honest man ! look at me, friend, I am a 
soldier, this is not the livery of a knave; I am an Irish- 
man, honey ; mine is not the country of dishonour. 
Now, sirrah, be gone ; if you enter these doors, or give 
Lady Rusport the least item of what has passed, I will 
cut offboth your ears and rob the pillory of its due. 

Far. I wish I was once fairly out of his sight. 

[Exeunt. 



Act IK] THE WEST INDIAN. M 

SCENE I'll. 

A Room in Stockwell's House. 

Enter Stockwell. 

Stock. I must disclose myself to Belcour ; this no- 
Me instance of his generosity, which old Dudley has 
been relating, allies me to him at once ; concealment 
becomes too painful ; I shall be proud to own him 
for my son But, see, he's here. 

Enter Belcour, and throws himself upon a Sofa, 

Bel. O my curs'd tropical constitution ! 'Would to 
heaven I had been dropped upon the snows of Lapland, 
and never felt the blessed influence of the sun, so I 
had never burnt with these inflammatory pas ions ! 

Stock. So, so, you seem disordered, Mr. Belcour. 

Bel. Disordered, sir ! Why did I ever quit the soil 
in which I grew ; what evil planet drew me from 
that warm, sunny region, where naked nature walks 
without disguise, into this cold, contriving, artificial 
country ? 

Stock. Come, sir, you've met a rascal ; what o'that ? 
general conclu ions are illiberal. 

Bel. No, sir, I have met reflection by the way ; I 
have come from folly, noise, and fury, and met a si- 
lent monitor — Well, well, a villain ! 'twas not to be 
pardoned — pray never mind me, sir. 

Stock. Alas! my heart bleed- for him. 

Bel. And yet, I might have heard him: now, plague 
upon that blundering Irishman, for coming in as 
he did; the hurry of the deed might palliate the 
event : deliberate execution has less to plead — Mr. 
Stockwell, I am bad company to you. 

Stock. Oh, sir ; make no excuse, if you think lean 
vender you any service, it may be worth your trial 



16 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland* 

to confide in me ; if not, your secret is safer in your 
own bosom. 

Bel. That sentiment demands my confidence: pray, 
sit down by me. You must know I have an affair of 
honour on my hand,:-, with young Dudley ; and, 
though I put up with no man's insult, yet I wish to 
take away no man's life. 

Stock. I know the young man, and am apprised of 
your generosity to his father ; what can have bred a 
quarrel between you ? 

Bel. A foolish passion on my side, and a haughty 
provocation on his. There is a girl, Mr. Stockwelf, 
whom I have unfortunately seen, of most uncommon 
beauty ; he has withall an air of so much natural 
modesty, that, had I not had good assurance of her 
being an attainable wanton, I declare I should as soon 
have thought of attempting the chastity of Diana. 

Enter Servant. 

Stock. Hey day, do you interrupt us ? 

Serv Sir, there's an Irish gentleman, will take no 
denial: he say , hemu.t see Mr. Belcour directly, 
upon bu iness of the last con equence. 

Bel. Admit him ; 'tis the Irish officer, that parted 
lis, and brings me young Dudley's challenge; I should 
have made a long story of it, and he'll tell you in 
three words. 

Enter OTlaherty. 

Q'Fla. 'Save you, my dear ; and you sir, I have * 
little bit of a word in private for you. 

Bel. Pray deliver your commands: this gentleman 
is my intimate friend. 

O'Fla. Why, then, Ensign Dudley will be glad to 
measure swords with you, yonder, at the v London 
Tasern, in Bishopsgate Street, at nine o'clock— you 
know the place. 

BeL I do ; and shall observe the appointment- 



4ct IV.\ THE WEST INDIAN. 77 

O'F/a. Will you be of the party, sir? we shall 
want a fourth hand. 

Stock. Savage as the custom is, I close with your 
proposal ; and, though I am not fully informed of 
the occasion of your quarrel, I shall rely on Mr. Bel- 
cour's honour for the justice of it, and willingly stake 
my life in his defence. 

O'F/a. Sir, you are a gentleman of honour, and I 
shall be glad of being better known to you — But, 
harkye, Belcour, I had like to have forgot part of my 
errand ; there is the money you gave old Dudley : 
you may tell it over, 'faith : 'tis a" receipt in full ; 
now the lad can put you to death with a sate con- 
science, and when he ha? done that job for you, let it 
be a warning how you attempt the sister of a man of 
honour. 

Be/. The sister ? 

O'F/a. Ay, the sister ; 'tis English, is it not ? Or 
Irish ; 'tis all one ; you understand me, his sister, or 
Louisa Dudley, that's her name, I think, call her 
which you will. By St. Patrick, 'tis a foolish piece 
of business, Belcour, to go about to take away a poor 
girl's virtue from her, when there are so many to be 
met with in the town, who have disposed of theirs 
to your hands. [Exit, 

Stock. Why, I am thunderstruck ! what is it yoi' 
have done, and what is the shocking business in 
which I have engaged ? if I understand him right 'tis 
the sister of young Dudley you've been attempting : 
you talked to me of a professed wanton ; the girl he 
speaks of has beauty enough indeed to inflame your 
desires, but she has honour, innocence, and simplici- 
ty* te aw the most licentious passion ; if you have 
done that, Mr, Belcour, I renounce you, I abandon 
you, I forswear all fellowship or friendship with you 
for ever. 

Bel. Have p'atienge for a moment j- we do in 
H2 



78 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

speak of the same person, but she is not innocent, she 
is not young Dudley's sister. 

Stock. Astonishing 1 who told you this ? 

Bel. The woman, where she lodges, the person, who 
put me on the pursuit, and contrived our meetings. 

Stock. What woman ? What person I 

Bel. Fulmer her name is, I warrant you I did not 
proceed without good grounds. 

Stock. Fulmer, Fulmer I who waits I 

Enter Servant. 

Send Mr. Stukely hither directly ; I begin to see my 
way into this dark transaction. Mr. Belcour, Mr. 
Belcour, you are no match for the cunning and con- 
trivances of this intriguing town. 

Enter Stukely. 

Pr'ythee, Stukely, what is the name of the woman 
and her husband, who were stopped upon suspicion 
of selling stolen diamonds at pur next door-neigh- 
tour's, the jeweller ? 

Stuke. Fulmer. 

Stock. So ! 

Bel Can you procure me a sight of those dia- 
monds ? 

Stuke. They are now in my hand ; I was desired to 
show them to Mr. Stockwell. 

Stock. Give them to me — what do I see ? — as I 
live, the very diamonds Miss Rusport sent hither, and 
which I entrusted to you to return. 

Bel. Yes, but I betrayed that trust, and gave them 
Mrs. Fulmer, to present to Miss Dudley. 

Stock. With a view, no doubtj to bribe her to com- 
pliance ? ; 

Bel. I own it. 



Act ///.] THE WEST INDIAN. 19 

Stock. For shame, for shame ; — and' twas this wo- 
rn an'i intelligence you relied upon for Miss Dudley's 
character ? 

Bel. I thought she knew her 5 — by heaven, I would 
have died, sooner than have insulted a woman of vir- 
tue, or a man of honour. 

Stock. I think you would ; but mark the danger of 
licentious course .; you are betrayed, robbed, abused, 
and, but for this providential discovery, in a fair way 
of being :ent out of the world, with all your follies on 
your head. — Dear Stukely, go to my neighbour, tell 
him, I have an owner for the je web ; and beg him to 
carry the people under custody, to the London Ta- 
vern, and wait for me there. — (Exit Stukely.] I see 
it was a trap laid foi you, which you have narrowly 
escaped : you addressed a woman of honour, with all 
the loose incense of a profane admirer, and you have 
drawn upon you the resentment of a man of honour, 
who thinks him ; eif bound to protect her. Well, sir, 
you must atone for this mistake. 

Bel. To the lady, the most penitent submission I 
can make, is justly due ; but, in the execution of an 
act of justice, it never shall be said, my soul was 
swayed by the least particle of fear, I have received 
a challenge from her brother ; now, though I would 
give my fortune, almost my life itself, to purchase 
her happiness, yet I cannot abate her one scruple of 
my honour ; — I have been branded with the name of 
villain. 

Stock. Ay, sir, you mistook her character, and he 
mistook yours ; error begets error. 

Bel. Villain, Mr. Stockwell, is a harsh word. 

Stock. It is a harsh word, and should be unsaid. 

Bel. Come, come, it shall be unsaid. 

Stock. Or else, what follows ? Why, the sword is 
drawn ; and to heal the wrongs you have done to the 
reputation of the sister, you make an honourable 
amends, by murdering the brother. 



80 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland 

Bel. Murdering ! 

Stock. 'Tis thus religion writes and speaks the word; 
in the vocabulary of modern honour, there is no such 
term. — But, come, I don't despair of satisfying the 
one, without alarming the other ; that done I have a 
discovery to unfold, that you will then, I hope, be 
fitted to receive. 



ACT THE FIFTH. 

SCENE I. 

Stockwell's House. 
Captain Dudley, Louisa, and Stukelv. 

Dud. And are those two wretches, Fulmer and his 
wife in safe custody ? 

Stuke. They are in good hands ; I accompanied 
them to the tavern, where your son was to be, and 
then went in search of you. You may be sure, Mr. 
Stockwell will inforce the law against them as far as 
it will go. 

Dud. What mischief might^heir cursed machina- 
tions have produced, but for this timely discovery ! 

Lou. Still I am terrified ; I tremble with appre- 
hension, lest Mr. Belcour's impetuosity, and Charles's 
spirit, should not wait for an explanation, but drive 
them both to extremes, before the mistake can be un- 
ravelled. 

Stuke. Mr. Stockwell is with them, madam, and 
you have nothing to fear ; — you cannot suppose he 
would ask you hither, for any other purpose, but to 
celebrate their reconciliation, and to receive Mr. Bel« 
cour's atonement. 



4* r.] THE WEST INDIAN. 81 

Dud. No> no, Louisa, Mr. StockwelPs honour and 
discretion guard you against all danger or offence. 
He well knows we will endure no imputation on the 
honour of our family j and he certainly has invited us 
to receive satisfaction on that score in an amicable 
way. 

Lou. Would to heaven they were returned ! 

Stuke. You may expect them every minute ; — and 
gee, madam, agreeably to your wish, they are here. 

[Exit* 

Enter Charles ; afterwards Stockwell and 
O Flaherty. 

. Lou. O Charles, O brother ! how could you serve 
me so ? how could you tell me, you was going to Lady 
Rusport's, and then set out with a deign of fighting 
Mr. Beicour ? But where is he j where is your anta- 
gonist I 

Stock. Captain, I am proud to see you ; and you, 
Miss Dudley, do me particular honour. We have 
been adjusting, sir, a very extraordinary ar.d danger* 
ous mistake, which, I take for granted, my friend 
Stukely has explained to you 

Dud. He has — I have too goGd an opinion of Mr. 
Beicour, to believe he could b; guilty of a designed 
affront to an innocent girl ; and I am much too well 
acquainted with your character, to suppo e you could 
abet him in such design ; I have no doubt, thei fore, 
all things will be set to right- in a ven few words, 
when we have the pleasure ot seeing ftftr. Beicour. 

Stock. He has only stepped .mo the ccmpting- 
house, and will wait upon you directly, You will 
not be over strict, madam, in weighing Mr Belcour's 
conduct to the minutest ^crupit , his manners, pas- 
sions, and opinions, are not a> yet assimilated to this 
climate; he comes among t you a new character, an 
inhabitant of a new world, and both ho pitality, as 
well as pity, recommend him to our indulgence. 



82 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

Enter Belcour — bows to Miss Dudley. 

Bel. I am happy, and ashamed, to see you ; — no 
man in his senses would offend you ; I forfeited mine, 
and erred against the light of the sun, when I over- 
looked your virtues ; but your beauty was predomi- 
nant, and hid them from my sight ; — I now perceive, 
I was the dupe of a mot improbable report, and 
humbly intreat your pardon. 

Lou. Think no more of it ; 'twas a mistake. 

Bel. My life has been composed of little else ; 'twas 
founded in mystery, and has continued in error : — I 
was once given to hope, Mr Stockw ell, that you was 
to have delivered me from these difficulties, but either 
I do not deserve your confidence, or I was deceived 
in my expectations. 

Stock. When this lady has confirmed your pardon, 
I shall hold you deserving of my confidence. 

Lou. That wa5 granted the moment it was a^ked. 

Bel. To prove my title to his confidence, honour 
me so far with yours, as to allow me a few minutes 
conversation in private with you. 

[She turn} to her Father. 

Dud. By all meany, Louisa; — come, Mr. Stock well, 
let us go into another room. 

Charles And now, Major O' Flaherty, I claim your 
promise, of a sight of the paper, that is to unravel 
this conspiracy of my aunt Ru port's. I think I have 
waited with great patience. 

O'Fla. I have been endeavouring to call to mind 
what it was I overheard ; I have got the paper, and 
will give you the be t account I can of the whole 
transaction. [Exeunt. 

Bel. Miss Dudley, I have solicited this audience, to 
repeat to you my penitence and confusion : How shall 
I atone ? What reputation can I make to you and 
virtue ? 

Lou. To me there's nothing due, nor any thing de* 



Act V.] THE WEST INDIAN. 8S 

manded of you but your more favourable opinion for 
the future, if you should chance to think of me ; 
upon the part of virtue, lam not empowered tospcak', 
but if hereafter, as you range through life, you should 
surprise her in the person of some wretched female, 
poor as myself, and not so well protected, enforce 
not your advantage, complete not your licentious 
triumph ; but raise her, rescue her from shame and 
sorrow, and reconcile her to herself again. 

Bel. I will, I will. As I now cease to view you in 
that false light I lately did, can you cease also to 
reflect upon the libertine addresses I have paid you, 
and look upon me as your reformed your rational 
admirer ? 

Lou. Ate sudderf reformations apt to last ? and how 
can I be sure the first fair face you meet will not en- 
snare affections so unsteady, and that I shall not lose 
you lightly as I gained you ? 

Bel. I know I am not worthy your regard ; I know 
1 am tainted with a thousand faults, sick of a thousand 
follies ; but there's a healing virtue in your eyes, that 
makes recovery certain ; I cannot be a villain in your 
arms. 

Lou. That you never can be : whomever you shall 
honour with your choice, my life upon't, that woman 
will be happy. 

Bel. Oh, .seal it with your hand, then, loveliest of 
women; confirm it with your heart: make me honour- 
ably happy, and crown your penitent, not with your 
pardon only, but your love. 

Lou. My love ! 

Enter O 1 Flaherty; afterwards Dudley and 
Charles, with Stockwell. 
O'Fla. Joy, joy, joy ! sing, dance, leap, laugh for 
joy. Ha'done making love, and fall down on your 
knees, to every saint in the calendar, for they are all 
on your side, and honest St. Patrick at the head of 
them. 



84 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, 

Charles O Louisa, such an event ! by the luckiest 
chance in life, we have di covered a wili of my grand- 
father's, made in hi;; last illness, by which he cut, off 
my aunt Rusport, with a small annuity, and leaves me 
heir to his whole estate, with a fortune of fifteen thou- 
sand pounds to yourself. 

Lou. What is it you tell me ? O sir, instruct me 
to support this unexpected turn of fortune. 

[To her Father. 
Dud. Name not fortune, 'tis the work of provi- 
dence ; 'tis the justice of heaven, that would not suf- 
fer innocence to be oppressed, nor your base aunt to 
prosper in her cruelty and cunning. 

{A Servant whispers Be lc our, and he goes out* 
O'Fla. You shall pardon me, Captain Dudley, but 
you must not overlook St. Patrick neither, for, by my 
soul, if he had not put it into my head to slip behind 
the screen, when your righteous aunt and the lawyer 
were plotting together, I don't see how you would 
ever have come at the paper there, that Master Stock- 
well is reading. 

Dud. True, my good friend, you are the father of 
this discovery, but how did you contrive to get this 
will from the lawyer ? 

O'Fla. By force, my dear, the only way of getting 
any thing from a lawyer's clutches. 

Stock. Well, Major, when he brings his action of 
assault and battery against you, the least Dudley can 
do is to defend you with the weapons you have put ' 
into his hands. 

Charles. That I am bound to do, and after the hap* 
piness I shall have in sheltering a father's age from 
the vicissitudes of life, my next delight will be in of- 
fering you an asylum in the bosom of your country. 
O'Fla. And upon my soul, my dear, 'tis high time 
1 was there, for 'tis now thirty long years since I sat 
foot in my native country, and by the power of St. 
Patrick I swear I think its worth all the rest of the 
world put together. 



Act T.J THE WEST INDIAN. 8G 

Dud. Ay, Major, much about that time have I been 
beating the round of service, and 'twere well for us 
both to give over ; we have stood many a tough gale, 
and abundance of hard blow-, but Charles shall lay 
us up in a little private, but afe harbour, where we'll 
rest from our labours, and peacefully wind up the 
remainder of our days. 

O'YIa. Agreed, and you may take it as a proof of 
my esteem, young man, that Major O'Flaherty ac- 
cepts a favour at your hands, for, by heaven, I'd 
sooner starve than jay I thank you, to the man I des- 
pise : but I believe you are an honest lad, and I'm 
glad you've trounc'd the old cat, for, on my con- 
science, I believe I must otherwise have married her 
myself, to have let you in for a share of her fortune. 
Stock. Hey day, what's become of Belcour ? 
Lou. One of your servants called him out just now, 
and seemingly on some earnest occasion. 

Stock. I hope, Miss Dudley, he has atoned to you 
as a gentleman ought. 

Lou. Mr. Belcour, sir, will always do what a gen«« 
tleman ought, and in my case I fear only you will 
think he has done too much. 

Stock. What has he done ? and what can be too 
much ? Pray heaven it may be as I wish ! [Aside. 
Dud. Let us hear it, child. 
Lou. With, confusion for my own unworthiness, I 

confess to you he has offered me 

Stock. Himself. 
Lou. 'Tistrue. 
Stock. Then I am happy ; all my doubts, my cares 

are over, and I may own him for my son. Why, 

these are joyful tidings ; come, my good friend, assist 
me in disposing your lovely daughter to accept this 
returning prodigal ; he is no unprincipled, no har- 
dened libertine : his love for you and virtue is the 
same. 

Dud, 'Twere vile ingratitude in me to doufct his 
merit — what says my child ? 
I 



86 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 

0"Fla. Begging your pardon now, 'tis a frivolous 
sort of a que rion, that of yours, for you may see 
plainly enough by the young lady's looks, that she 
gay.-, a great deal, though she speaks never a word„ 

Charles. Well, sister, I believe the Major has fairly 
interpreted the state of your heart. 

Lou. I own it ; and what must that heart be, which 
Jove, honour, and beneficence, like Mr. Belcour's, 
can make r.o impression on ? 

Stock. I thank you ; What happiness has this hour 
brought to pa s ! 

O Fla. Why don't we all sit down to supper, then* 
ana make a night on't. 

Stock. Hold, here comes Belcour. 

Enter Belcour, introducing Miss RusPORT. 

Bel. Mr. Dudley, here is a fair refugee, who pro* 
perly come., under your protection ; -he is equipped 
for Scotland, but your good fortune, which I have 
related to her, seems inclined to save you both the 
journey— Nay, madam, never go back: you are a- 
mong.st friends. 

Charles. Charlotte ! 

Mi j j R. The same ; that fond, officious, girl, that 
haunti you every where : that persecuting spirit — — 

Charles Say, rather, that protecting angel; >.uch 
you have been to me. 

Miss R. O, Charles, you have an hone-t, but proud 
heart. 

Charles. Nay, chide me not, dear Charlotte. 

Bel. Seal up her lips, then ; she is an adorable 
girl ; her arms are open to you ; and love and happi- 
ne- are ready to receive you. 

Charles. Thus, then I claim my dear, my destined 
wife. j Embracing her. 

Enter Lady Rusport. 

Lady R. Hey day ! mighty fine ! wife, truly ! 
mighty well ! kissing, embracing—did ever any thing 



Act *) THE WEST INDIAN, at 

equal this ? Why, you shameless hussy ! — But I won't 

condescend to waste a word upon you. You, sir, 

you, Mr. Stockwell ; you fine, sanctified, fair-deal- 
ing man of conscience, is this the principle you trade 
upon ? is this your neighbourly system, to keep a 
house of reception for runaway daughters, and young 
beggarly fortune hunters ? 

O'Fla. Be advistd now, and don't put yourself in 
such a passion ; we were all very happy till you 
came. 

Lady R. Stand away, sir ; hav'n't I a reason to be 
in a passion ? 

O'Fla. Indeed, honey, and you have, if you knew 
all. 

Lady R. Come, madam, I have found out your 
haunts ; dispose yourself to return home with me. 
Young man, let me never see you within my doors 
again : Mr. Stockwell, I shall report your behaviour, 
depend on it. 

Stock. Hold, madam, I cannot consent to lose 
Miss Ru -port's company this evening, and I am per- 
suaded you won't insist upon it ; 'tis an unmotherly 
action to interrupt your daughter's happiness in this 
manner, believe me it is. 

Lady R. Her happiness, truly ! upon my word ! 
and I suppose it's an unmotherly action to interrupt 
her ruin ; for what but ruin must it be to marry a 
beggar ? I think my bister had a proof of that, sir, 
when she made choice of you. 

[To Captain Dudley. 

Dud. Don't be too lavish of your spirits, Lady 
Ru sport. 

O'Fla. By my soul, you'll have occasion for a sip 
of the cordial elixir by and by. 

Stock. It don't appear to me, madam, that Mr. 
Dudley can be called a beggar. 

Lady R. ~ 

am apt to think a pair of colours cannot furnish set- 
tlement quite sufficient for the heir of Sir Stephen 
B.usport. 

12 



b* THE WEST INDIAN. {Cumberland 

Miss jR. But a good estate, in aid of a commission * 
may do something. 

Lady R. A good estate, truly ! where should he 
get a good estate pray ? 

Stock. Why, suppose now a worthy old gentleman, 
on his death-bed, should have taken it in his mind to 

leave him one 

Lady R. Hah ! what's that you say ? 

O'FIa. O ho ! you begin to smell a plot, do you ? 

Stock. Suppose there should be a paper in the 
world, that runs thus—" I do hereby give and be- 
queath all my estates, real and personal, to Charles 
Dudley son of my late daughter Loui?a, See. &c. &c." 

Lady R. Why, I am thunderstruck! by what con* 
trivance, what viliany did you get possession of 
that paper ? 

Stock. There was no viliany, madam, in getting 
possession of it ; the crime was in concealing it, none 
in bringing it to light. 

Lady jR. Oh, that cursed lawyer, Varland ! 

Q'Fla. You may say that, 'faith ; he is a cursed 
lawyer ; and a curbed piece of work 1 had to get the 
paper from him : your ladyship now was to have paid 
him five thousand pounds for it ; I forced him to give 
it me of his own accord, for nothing at all, at all. 

Lady R. Is it. you that have done this ? am I foil- 
ed by your blundering cotrivances, after all ? 

OFia. 'Twas a blunder, 'faith, but as natural a one 
as if I had made it o'purpose. 

Charles. Come let us not oppress the fallen ; do 
right even now, and yon shall have no cause to com- 
plain. 

Lady K. Am I become an object of your pity", 
then ? Insufferable ! confusion light amongst you ! 
marry, and.be wretched : let me never see you more. 

[Exit. 

Miss R. She is outrageous ; I suffer for her, and 
blush to see her thus exposed. 



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